


Home - A Blue Neighbourhood

by TokkieSivan



Category: Connor Franta - Fandom, tronnor - Fandom, troye sivan - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Based on the Blue Neighbourhood video trilogy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, blue neighbourhood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokkieSivan/pseuds/TokkieSivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I get it, Con,' Troye said softly. 'We live in a blue neighbourhood. Beliefs are embedded deep, and it's hard to even mold them, let alone uproot them completely.'</p>
<p>Based on the Blue Neighbourhood trilogy of the album Blue Neighbourhood, by Troye Sivan. </p>
<p>A Tronnor fanfic.</p>
<p>Coming out as a homosexual is difficult enough as it is, not to add in a society of closed-minded homophobics. Troye Sivan and Connor Franta are two boys living in such a society, fighting against people for each other, and rebelling against their own selves in a hunt for the space to accommodate their jigsaw pieces.</p>
<p>What with struggling with their identities, their feelings and their desires, the real question in Troye's and Connor's turbulent life is: Will the anchor hold fast? Will it save them from the current, and let them reach home, for what is home, if not a room full of their safest sounds?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Troye stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes squinted against the sunlight, and looked at the boy who was walking across the street. His heart clenched like it usually did, at the slumped shoulders and tight expression, and his mousy brown hair styled in his usual quiff. Every feature of his face was imprinted into Troye's memory, due to the countless times he had gazed into those sparkling emerald orbs and run his hands over it.

Troye knew he was staring in a very obvious manner, but he couldn't look away. His hands fisted in his pockets, and it took every amount of will power he possessed to not call out his name. He was an empty shell, he knew, but the mere sight of this boy swirled up hopes he hadn't known existed, and echo mournfully.

He'll look at me now, Troye thought suddenly, giddiness sweeping through him. He rocked on his toes, knuckles turning white with the grip they had of the railing. In the last ten years, Troye had come to know him like the back of his hand. Heat flooded his cheeks and his heart swelled up, as the boy cast a stiff sideways look. Time seemed to stand still for the mere second their eyes met, and it would seem nothing more than a cursory glance to an idle bystander. Yet, they had an entire conversation.

'I'm sorry.' His green eyes said. Troye noticed with a pang that they appeared much duller.

'It's not your fault. How're you doing?'

'I'm fine.'

Troye shook his head inwardly at the stubborn streak that persisted, even after everything. 'Bullshit.'

'I know.' The boy's gaze faltered a little. ' I miss you, and remember, I love you. Forever and always.'

'I love you too,' Troye screamed with his eyes, clenching his fists tighter in helpless rage that coursed through him like a current. The boy flashed him a swift sad smile and continued walking. Troye's eyes burned with tears, and he felt his knees collapse under him.

_  
Troye had always been fascinated by the sea. It scared him, yet attracted him at the same time. It was late afternoon, and yet the sun had almost gone down. A strong wind flapped around him, ruffling his curls and resisting his body when he made his way over towards the crashing waves. He looked back at his dad and brother, who smiled encouragingly at him, and walked a few more steps till the frothy water curled around his ankles. He felt the sheer force commanded by the body, and dug his toes in the sand._

_He had insisted on having this little adventure of his own, because he was a big boy of seven. Troye looked back and grinned happily at the proud smiles they gave him. He bent to roll up his jeans, already feeling the hems get soaked with the salty water. When he straightened back up, he saw a brown-haired boy standing across him, his face scrunched up against the strong wind. He looked at Troye and said something._

_'What?' Troye yelled back, but the wind whipped the words from his mouth and stole them. He dug out his feet and began to wade towards the strange boy, who was doing the same. The first thing Troye noticed were his flushed cheeks and brilliant green eyes. He looked to be about his own age, and carried a mischievous aura around him, as if he could switch sugar for salt in your tea, or put toothpaste in your Oreos._

_Troye flashed his natural smile, one that always earned him another one back. After a moment, the boy grinned back. The wind could do nothing much with his close-cropped brown hair, while it seemed to be having the time of its life playing with Troye's curls._

_'Do you wanna go over to those rocks there?' He said loudly, in Troye's ear._

_'The tide's coming in, dude,' Troye made a face, rubbing his ear pointedly._

_'We can still go!'_

_Troye looked back and caught his dad's eye, who gave him a smile, apparently curious to see him talking to a boy he had never met before._

_'Look, there's my dad!' The boy pointed excitedly towards a man who came walking up to them. He had auburn hair, and a very ruddy face. His eyes twinkled at them._

_'Making friends already? Good boy, Con.'_

_'Hello,' Troye squeaked, a bit intimidated by his confidence and heartiness. He turned a keen eye on Troye._

_'Don't worry, I won't eat you,' His tone turned kinder. 'What's your name?'_

_'Troye, Troye Mellet.'_

_'I'm Connor, Connor Franta.' The boy spoke up, seeming just as confident as his dad. Troye looked on awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do, except smile nervously._

_'Dad, we're going over to those rocks,' Connor said, looking up at his dad. It was plain he adored him._

_'Now that looks like fun!' Connor's dad boomed out. 'Go ahead, boys, but be careful of your footing. These rocks may be slippery.'_

_Troye felt his arm grabbed by Connor, and tugged gently across the waves. The water rose to his knees, and he heard his dad calling out something from behind._

_'Don't worry, I'm here,' He heard Connor's dad call back._

_He followed Connor cautiously, gasping as he lost his balance once, or twice, before Connor caught him and steadied him._

_'Clumsy much?' Connor smirked back at Troye, who flushed ruefully. Just then, Connor lost his balance and would have landed in the water had not Troye caught him._

_'You were saying something?' Troye chuckled, arms still around his new friend, who gave him a glare that slowly turned into a sheepish grin._

_The blackened rocks were at a slight height above the water level, though that didn't prevent them from skidding continuously over their own wet feet. Troye giggled, as Connor lurched and suddenly landed face-first in a small pool._

_'There was a fish in there, and it touched my cheek,' Connor wailed, making Troye giggle even more. He helped him up, and together they looked over to the orangish-yellow hue that kissed the horizon, marking the sunset._

_It was the start of a new friendship._

Troye felt a tentative hand press down on his shoulder. He swallowed once, and blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears that had gathered behind his lashes. He looked up, meeting his father's concerned face. It made him want to break down crying, and crawl into his father's lap as he would do when he was a kid. But he wasn't a kid now. So Troye set his jaw, and willed his face to smile pleasantly, but somehow he felt he had produced an awkward grimace.

'You can't go on like this, son,' His dad sighed. 'You'll have to accept the facts as they are, and move on.'

'What if I don't want to?' Troye whispered. To his chagrin, his throat was becoming tight again, and there was a risk of a breakdown.

'Troye,' His dad said patiently. 'We've been over this. Some people don't change; we have to change ourselves if we go around expecting the world to change.'

'Even if the world is wrong?' Troye hissed, suddenly furious. 'Why must we follow something that we know is disgusting and horrible just because the world does it? Fuck the damn world; it doesn't care about us. It doesn't give a damn that my Connor is hurting so much right now, or that I'm hurting so much seeing him like this.'

His dad sighed. 'There is a fine line between tolerance and acceptance, Troye.' He gave Troye's shoulder one last squeeze, and walked out. Numbly, Troye stared across the deserted street, observing the shadows of mundane objects like the lampposts and the signboard of the street.

A live shadow walked in quietly. Troye's heart lurched as he recognized it to be a Connor-shaped shadow. He looked up eagerly at the source of the shadow. Connor stood with his back to him, a beanie pulled over his ears. He wore black jeans and a burgundy t-shirt that encased his lean frame snugly.

Within a minute, Troye had grabbed his jacket and slid his feet into his converse. He hopped down the stairs on one foot, tying the lace on the other. Once he finally reached outside in one piece, it took all of his effort to keep a calm and nonchalant look on his face. All he wanted to do was run towards the boy standing a few feet away, and jump into his arms.

Troye kept some distance between them, pretending to stroll about aimlessly. His heart drummed in his chest, out of fear and excitement. Something had happened that had made Connor try to contact him after almost a year. He observed Connor; the familiar joyous air around him was absent, replaced by something diffident. Connor walked with his head downcast, but the beanie encasing his head made Troye's heart skip a beat, bringing back memories and reiterating just how attractive Connor was.

They walked silently for about ten blocks, Troye's apprehension increasing with every step. He had no idea where Connor was taking him, but he followed obediently. Connor never glanced back even once, but Troye could imagine his expression, seeing the tenseness in his shoulders. More than that, it was the way Connor slumped and walked that struck him the hardest. Connor had always been a fighter, but the springy gait Troye had grown up seeing was replaced by a robotic shuffle, diffident and weary to the extent that it made Troye's limbs tremble with its influence.

Dusk was beginning to set in. Still, they kept walking. Troye wouldn't have been surprised if they suddenly started mental telepathy; their bond of over ten years was too hard to break. People had tried, and failed, Troye thought suddenly, a small smile creeping across his lips. The smile widened further when he saw Connor take the turning for the beach.

The water looked a grainy gray, streaked yellow and orange with the fading light of the sun. There was still a yellowish glow at the horizon, making Troye's throat grow tight unexpectedly. He glanced around quickly, making sure no one was there, before making his way towards Connor. He felt a newfound shyness as he sat down beside him, resisting the urge to grab his hand in his own.

'Troye boy,' Connor spoke up quietly, his voice slightly raspy, the way Troye loved it. He finally looked at Troye, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. Troye felt his resistance crumbling, as he flung himself at Connor, biting his lip to keep from breaking down completely. A magic antidote seemed to have passed through him, as Connor gently guided his head to his chest, before wrapping his arms around him tightly. He grabbed a fistful of Connor's shirt, and pressed closer to him, feeling Connor's hand stroking his hair. 'I'm so sorry. So, so sorry, baby.'

'It's okay,' Troye didn't think about making a fuss out of something he knew was out of Connor's control. He could feel Connor's heart beating, faster than usual, no doubt, and the strong steady beat comforted him. Troye felt more relaxed than he had in the entire year, in Connor's arms. This was where he belonged. This was how they were meant to be, in each others' arms.

'Con Bon,' Troye whispered, drawing away a little to look at him. Connor's face was flushed pink, his eyes closed, as he breathed unevenly. His hand shook a little, and Troye gripped it tightly.

'I've missed this so much, Tro,' Connor breathed. 'Holding you close, being in your arms, looking into your eyes, talking to you. You. I've missed you so fucking much.'

'I've missed you too, Con. I don't know how I survived.'

'It was killing me too, baby,' Connor whispered, closing his eyes, resting a hand on Troye's cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of his mouth, and his pinky drew comforting patterns behind his earlobe. Troye felt a sense of lightness weighing on him with every passing second.

'How did you get away?' Troye asked curiously, running a gentle hand across Connor's face. The latter stilled under his touch, as Troye admired his familiar features - angular cheekbones, strong jawline and tiny lips.

'Dad's out of the state for a couple of days. He told my Mom and our neighbour Brock to keep an eye on me, but Brock's out of town today, and Mom's sleeping. So I managed to slip past.' Connor's voice sounded hollow. He pulled off his beanie, his hair rumpled in a way Troye adored, with his signature quiff prominent. Troye looked up at him, a shadow of the boy he had met and befriended and fallen in love with, his chest tightening painfully.

Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around Connor, feeling him drawing into the embrace at once. He kissed the top of his head, as Connor buried his face into Troye's chest, his body shaking with silent sobs. Troye could gauge that he was trying his hardest not to cry and it infuriated him that there was nothing he could do to change the old stereotype, force-fed to him since he was born, that "Boys don't cry", except comfort him as best as he could. He rubbed Connor's back soothingly, whispering in his ear.

'Tro?'

'Yeah?' Troye smiled at Connor's crimson face, which looked adorably cute.

'I won't leave again. We'll never leave each other, no matter what happens.'

'As if I'd let you go away from me,' Troye hummed, cupping his chin. Connor's expression seemed to falter for a moment, before breaking out into a genuine smile. 'You're mine, Connor Franta, and I'm yours. Forever and always.'

'Race you to the rocks,' Connor scrambled up suddenly. Troye, surprised at the sudden change in the mood, went with it gladly. Soon, they were laughing breathlessly as they tried to keep their balance over the slimy wet rocks. The incoming tide wasn't helping at all, if not hindering them (which it was). Troye huffed indignantly as Connor managed to get a bit further than him, and laughed back at him when he lurched and stumbled. Troye grabbed a handful of drying seaweed and threw it at Connor, who dodged it with ease, sticking his tongue out in reply.

'What's wrong with you, Troye boy?' Connor teased, raising an eyebrow and wiggling it. He looked radiant, literally and metaphorically, standing outlined in the sunset.

'Everything,' Troye breathed, grabbing Connor's proferred hand when he finally reached him. His breath hitched sharply, as he grabbed Connor by the neck of his t-shirt and pulled him towards himself.

He smirked slightly, looking into Connor's wide eyes. 'Make me right again, Con Bon,' Troye whispered, closing the small distance between them and pressing his lips against Connor's.


	2. Chapter 2

_  
It's easy, come on!' Connor called out encouragingly to his new best friend, who stood below, looking up at him nervously. He clapped his hands as Troye gingerly clambered over the first bough, letting out a small squeal of surprise when he didn't fall. He awkwardly climbed up to the branch, and gave Connor a small smile as he stood just below him. Connor held out his hand to help him up._

_'This is amazing,' Troye breathed, looking around with wide eyes. 'Your house is amazing, Connor, and so is this backyard.'_

_'Really?' Connor laughed. 'I like your house too, it's more posh. This place is a real dump.'_

_'I think it's cool,' Troye said. 'Who has a boat in their backyard? And so many trees? All we have is a willow tree and two of those trees with big leaves, and lots of shrubs and weeds.'_

_'The boat is cool,' Connor agreed excitedly. 'My dad's mending it, and he'll let me help.'_

_'Can I help too?' Troye clapped his hands. Connor smiled to see his enthusiasm; normally he was so quiet and reserved. His brilliant blue eyes sparkled on his pale face._

_'Sure! I'll ask Dad, but I'm sure he'll allow.'_

_He stood up slowly, as Troye looked up at him in alarm. 'What are you doing? You'll fall!' Troye squeaked._

_'No, I won't!' Connor reached up to the branch above him, and pulled down the tiny pink octopus he had hung up there. Grinning widely at Troye's scrunched up face, he hung it on a jutting out part of the tree trunk in front of them._

_'Ew, Connor!' Troye made a face, laughing. He wouldn't touch it, even though Connor showed him its eight legs. He could tell his interest was peaked though, because he watched curiously, before reaching out gingerly._

_'It feels gross!' Troye exclaimed, as Connor laughed. 'Where did you get it?'_

_'I found it buried in the sand, and sneaked it here,' Connor beamed proudly. Troye poked it once, before shaking his head amusedly._

_'You're so weird.'_

_'I know,' Connor smirked.  
_

Troye's touch lingered on him, as he pushed open the door to his house. Even after a year, he smelled and felt exactly the same. It had taken all of his self-control not to break down and cry as soon as Troye had pulled him closer to himself. Only one boy could do that to him; uncork all emotions he had kept compressing and persuade him to let go of the faux anchor he kept holding onto.

Connor closed his eyes, wishing he'd wake up somewhere entirely different, where he could be happy with his Troye. Their kiss had been raw and full of desperation, containing their anguish from the past year; Troye's hands gripping his hair with a feral possessiveness and his looped tightly around Troye's waist in desperation. He couldn't live without Troye, he just couldn't. This year had been torturous, and Connor didn't want to relive it. He had been completely numb, a hollow shell encased within fragile glass he wished he could break.

He could tell that Troye had been no better. When they had drawn away, he had leaned his forehead against Troye's, gazing hungrily into the sparkling blue eyes. Connor sighed, his chest tightening. He had sneaked out now; who knows when he would be able to, the next time? In a way, he had done more damage to them by raising their hopes, but he didn't regret it in the slightest, and neither would Troye.

'Where were you?' A voice spoke up quietly from the kitchen. Connor froze, feeling faint as he turned on his heel. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of his father's auburn hair at the kitchen counter. He was pouring himself a glass of beer, and Connor cringed at an empty bottle lying on the floor.

'Just went for a walk,' Connor managed, heart thumping. 'Needed some fresh air.'

'I see.' He took a gulp. 'Just that, right?'

'Of course,' Connor responded, trying not to stutter. 'You're back early.'

His dad shrugged, and gave him a small smile, which Connor tried to return. His body seized up with a tense calmness. He quickly walked to his room and collapsed on the bed, shaking with sobs he struggled to contain. He needed Troye. He needed Troye to hold him against his chest, and stroke his hair, and say that everything would work out fine. It was fucking cheesy and sappy, but Connor was beyond caring.

_  
'We'll be fine on our own, Dad,' Connor protested. 'We won't be hanging out with you old people.' His dad laughed, and scooped him up suddenly. Connor gasped, enjoying sitting on his dad's shoulders. Everything looked so much different from there._

_'One day you'll be taller than your dad,' His dad hummed, going around in circles for Connor's benefit. 'And a much better man, I hope.'_

_'Yes!' Connor exclaimed, hugging his dad tightly when he put him down. He saw Troye with his dad and brother in the distance, and waved excitedly. The sand felt powdery soft against his bare feet as he ran across it and gave them all high-fives._

_'Come on,' He grabbed Troye's hand. Troye complied quietly, giggling. Connor clutched the fake swords his dad had handed to him, along with the pirate caps. They met everyday, yet this day felt special. Troye panted slightly, falling behind a little. He was as skinny as ever, and his face sported a smattering of freckles. They were both eight, but Connor, and everyone else, always said that Troye looked six._

_Connor was exactly the opposite to Troye; outgoing, confident, reckless and boisterous; whereas Troye was quiet, shy and perceptive. They were like magnets; inseparable, from the first day they had met._

_'What're we playing, Con?' Troye spoke up. Connor liked his new nickname; he made up his mind to give Troye one too._

_'Pirates!' Connor exclaimed. He put on the black cap, before giving the other one to Troye. He giggled as his friend managed to put it on upside-down, and straightened it for him._

_'Your hair is so curly,' Connor commented, as he handed the other sword to Troye. With a fierce battle cry, he swung the sword at Troye, stabbing him slightly in the chest. Troye blinked in confusion for a moment. He swiped it again, but Troye was quicker to defend himself this time. Connor swung the sword again, and Troye blocked him smoothly, raising an amused eyebrow at Connor's crestfallen face. He squealed as Connor lunged at him. Laughing and shouting, they wrestled in the sandy grass, the strong sea breeze whipping around their faces the entire time. Troye sank down into the sand, breathless with laughter, and Connor flung down his sword too. Time to take a mini break.  
_

Connor tried to lie still in his bed, but his mind and body refused to settle down. He didn't how much time had passed, if it had. His heartbeat had finally normalised, but goosebumps kept materialising on his skin every time he closed his eyes to the mental image of Troye that seemed to be glued to the back of his eyelids. He looked like an angel, pure and innocent, which kept contorting to a hurt grimace every time Connor had been forced to ignore him. Connor wanted nothing more than giving himself up to this angel to let him heal him; heal them both.

He swung himself out of bed impulsively. He needed a drink. It was the next thing after Troye that would force his mind shut. He snapped on his beanie, stopping short as he saw his dad seated at the table. Connor cast a nervous glance at the liquor bottle in his hand, before taking a deep breath.

'Hey, dad,' He called. 'Just going out for a drive with friends, is that okay?' He blanched as his dad turned bloodshot eyes towards him, and nodded unsteadily. Connor fled, nearly bumping into a big ruddy-faced sailor, who was his dad's friend, making his way through the front door. He yelled back an apology, already jogging towards the town.

His eyes flickered up fractionally as he passed Troye's apartment, but no lights shone in the windows. He remembered the countless number of times he had dropped Troye at that very gate, before continuing on to his own home. He had stayed over numerous times at that apartment, and had secretly loved his own house much better, even though he felt just as home there. The balcony was the place Troye would always stand, and wave to him.

The bar was poorly manned, which allowed Connor to slip in even though he had no fake ID. He surveyed the dingy place with loud, obnoxious men yelling and laughing, with a grimace, but then shrugged it off, before ordering a beer at the counter. Raucous laughter came from the other rooms, which he supposed were the strippers' room and the disco. Connor sipped his beer, and welcomed the familiar numbness.

Troye.

Blue-eyed, curly-haired, pale-cheeked, with an adorable smile, and a naturally innocent look (even though he was no saint).

His Troye.

His Troye with his long lithe body, his skin as soft as a baby, with sinewy arms that cradled him preciously, and lean bony fingers that brushed as softly as a feather. His bright smile always tugged a string in Connor's gut, and..

Connor ignored the shrieking in his mind, as he ordered another beer, taking bigger gulps. No matter what he did, he couldn't forget it. Was it possible to be this lovesick, to the point that it physically hurt? The countless kisses they had shared and the memories of hours spent in each others' arms, conversing with their hands, lips and eyes, buoyed up through crusty barricades he had half-heartedly constructed in his mind. He could have had it all, had Fate not been such a bitch. Connor closed his eyes with a deep breath, a singular desire to press close to his boyfriend and just kiss him senseless till they were both breathless with genuine pleasure and happiness, rising in his mind recurrently.

'Trying hard not to fall  
On the way home  
You were trying to wear me down, down  
Kissing up on fences  
And up on walls  
On the way home  
I guess it's all working out, now'

Connor froze, his feet automatically moving in the direction of the song. His throat tightened painfully in recognition, the same angelic voice that used to sing for him crooning a familiar verse just a few feet away.

He stood on the makeshift stage, his eyes closed, chest heaving slightly, as he poured his heart into his song. Tears pricked Connor's eyes as he watched him. He looked so tiny, standing there alone. Connor kept walking, his chest clenching, as he bit his lip to stop his tears. Troye's expression looked similarly anguished, and he clutched the microphone with an intensity that was almost scary.

''Cause there's still too long to the weekend  
Too long till I drown in your hands  
Too long since I've been a fool, oh'

His eyes remained closed, even when Connor stood right next to him.

'Leaving this blue neighbourhood,  
Never knew loving could hurt this good, oh  
And it's driving me wild'

Troye nearly jumped a foot in the air, but Connor saw him relax visibly when their eyes met. Not many people were paying attention to them, but Connor didn't care at all. His singing was pathetic when compared to Troye's, but he didn't stop, and they continued singing together, frequently looking at each other.

'You're driving me wild, wild, wild  
You're driving me wild, wild, wild  
You're driving me wild  
White noise in my mind  
Won't calm down  
You're all I think about  
Running on the music  
And the night highs  
But when the night's out  
It's me and you now, now'

Connor stopped for breath, smiling softly at the boy next to him, who was singing on, oblivious to everything else. Connor's heart broke at the extent of pain he had caused his boyfriend. Scanning the crowd, he caught the eye of Troye's brother Derrick, who smiled kindly. He was one of the few listening to them.

''Cause there's still too long to the weekend  
Too long till I drown in your hands  
Too long since I've been a fool, oh'

A particularly large group swarmed in then, and Connor caught Derrick motioning frantically to him. Confused, he got off the stage, as Derrick discreetly pointed towards someone at the back. Connor felt his blood chill. He wanted to grab Troye's hand, and run, but if the song stopped abruptly, it'd draw even more attention on themselves. So he quietly sprinted out of the room, and through a lesser-used exit.

Was it possible to feel so strongly for someone that the feelings transcended into physical pain? Connor felt exactly like that. He walked quickly, with his head downcast and chest hurting him as if metal bands encased him and were compressing with every passing second. The tightness kept solidifying till he was screaming mentally, begging for it to stop, pleading for Troye to come and save him from the repeated hits. Someone could have beat the lights out of him, and it'd still hurt less than the way he was hurting.

His mother was in her room, and Connor was fine by that. Secretly, he thought that he had only one parent, because she had played a totally insignificant role in his life. His dad had been the one always by his side; teaching him to ride a bicycle, teaching him swimming, teaching him about cars, taking him shopping, giving him The Talk, fanboying over his first kiss. His first kiss had been with a girl who was too bossy for him, and always chewed gum, when he was twelve. He had felt nothing at all, except an acute sense of embarrassment. His dad and he had shared a good laugh over it later.

But everything changed when he was sixteen.

Actually, when he was fourteen.

'Connor Franta!'

Connor shot upright as the voice cut through him like a knife. He let out an involuntary cry as the door of his room flew open and his dad stormed in. He instinctively began to walk backwards.

'Have you forgotten what I told you?' His dad bellowed, a vein popping in his forehead, advancing towards Connor.

Connor shook his head nervously, as his feet continued to stumble backwards. His body seemed to have turned to jelly. He couldn't think clearly, fogged by a primal fear, as he looked into the frothing, furious expression of the man who kept advancing steadily towards him.

'I thought you had gotten over that shit, but no! My son was waltzing with a faggot in a bar, where half the town was present. Singing songs about love and heartbreak, with that freak!'

His blood boiled at those words that hit his ears and brain with dull echoing thunks similar to darts that hit home. His Troye was perfect. He opened his mouth to say that, but that's when the first punch landed. Connor stood rooted to the spot in disbelief, almost not registering the painful swelling of his ear.His dad had never beat him before; even though he looked like the 'no-nonsense' dad. He blocked the next hit instinctively, wincing as his wrist took the impact. The air was driven out of his lungs when the next hit landed on his stomach, and he crumpled, doubled over. His dad yanked a fistful of his hair, and dragged him up again, so that he was half on his feet, and hit him again.

Ten minutes later, Connor stared up at the ceiling blankly, lying flat on his back on the hardwood floor. The pain in his chest bloomed again, stronger than ever, as his body stopped cowering and expecting punches. The momentary relief was gone. Something wet trickled down the side of his face, but he couldn't be bothered to wipe it away.

He needed Troye.

'My happy little pill  
Take me away  
Dry my eyes  
Bring color to my skies.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 is so confusing lol. I apologise in advance for anything I'll surely mess up in.


	3. Chapter 3

Connor was an amazing singer who refused to believe it. Troye was surprised that he didn't shrivel into ashes when Connor stood beside him, and began singing the song Troye had sung to him two years ago. He was pleased and proud beyond measure that Connor still remembered the lyrics so well.

His entire body had clenched when he had seen Connor with all his walls down, which was a rare and heartbreaking sight. Troye had wanted to barrel straight into him, and crawl into his arms, and run away somewhere where they would be unnoticed. Where he could look at Connor's gorgeous pink face, and gaze into his tender green eyes without worrying about anyone pointing it out and calling them names.

He had almost broke down crying to find Connor gone at the end of the song. Then he had noticed Connor's dad Ruben, and understood. Derrick had given him a kind smile, and he had sidled away as fast as he could. They weren't paying attention anyway; they had just needed a noise in the background.

People say things get better, and you should just grit your teeth and smile while going through hard times. Somehow, the tide changes, and everything becomes better. Troye couldn't smile even if he forcefully stretched his cheeks to. It was like a symptom of withdrawal, and he needed his drug badly. He craved it; in fact, he was going wild without it. Like a fool, he clung on to a small hope that what people said would hold true for him as well, as he sat helplessly with waves of pain washing through his body, wrecking him, tossing him about before leaving him limp.

The sound of something impacting his window made him look up sharply, just as another clink sounded, more insistently. Dully, Troye shuffled over to throw it open, and stuck his head outside. His hands flew to his mouth, as he ran back downstairs, wondering if it was all a dream, like the numerous times he had forcefully conjured up illusions of his lover returning to him.. His hands trembled so much that he couldn't undo the bolts. When he finally threw the door open, his eyes widened from a mixture of joy and horror, as his Connor strode inside quickly, the streetlamp illuminating dried blood on the side of his head.

'Con? What happened?' Troye whisper-yelled, tugging him to his room quickly. His Connor was so perfect, so lovely; it broke him to think that someone had done this to him. And he had a nasty idea who.

'Troye?' The single word swept like a hurricane through Troye, wrecking him more than he thought anything had. For the first time, Connor sounded like he had given up. 'Just hold me, please. I need you.'

Troye felt the desperation as Connor almost slammed into him, gripping his waist so tightly that it was painful, pressing his face against his chest. He threaded his fingers through Connor's hair, through the quiff that almost fell flat now, pressing comforting kisses on the top of his head. He rubbed Connor's back, working on the tense muscles, biting his lip from breaking down himself as he felt Connor's shaking form and a dampness spread across his chest.

Troye felt no sense of time. Seconds, minutes and hours all seemed to feel the same for him. He held Connor against him for a long time, silent, rocking his body gently. He knew that comforting words were meaningless for both of them. They were just too disingenuous to fall for them. He felt devoid of everything, except an acute sense of grim happiness that Connor was with him, even though the circumstances left him with a bitter taste in his mouth.

'My dad,' Connor said quietly, as he raised his head. Troye nodded in understanding, distressed at how much worse he looked, with his swollen face and cut cheek. He cradled his face gently in his hands, gazing intently into Connor's green orbs. Gradually the fingers digging into his sides relaxed. The shaking stopped, and their bodies no longer clung together as Connor shuffled back a bit, head bowed and hands furiously swiping at his eyes.

Troye caught his hands, using his own to wipe away the tears. He shook his head firmly at the apologetic look Connor cast him. 'I love you.'

Connor visibly melted, pressing his cheek into Troye's palm. His skin burned like fire, flaming a bright crimson from crying and other repressed emotions.

'I love you too,' Connor breathed, climbing into his lap and wrapping his arms around his waist. Troye felt the barbed chains in his chest slinking away slightly, as they loosened but hurt him while doing so. He would not think of the future, he would not think of the future. Fuck the damn world. He trusted Connor. He wouldn't leave him again.

As their faces closed into each other, and their lips met, the butterflies in his stomach did a fierce victory dance. Troye closed his eyes, putting every emotion into the kiss, as Connor reciprocated; their lips celebrating their defiance and rebellion, dancing and prancing and melding together in a sensual tango.

'You make my heart shake,  
Bend and break,  
But I can't turn away  
And it's driving me wild  
You're driving me wild.'

Troye's energy levels shot up to a new level, driven by his desires and wants. He slipped his tongue in, when he felt Connor part his lips. Nothing else existed at the moment, except the amazing boy in his arms. Overpowered by a love stronger than ever before, driven by a need to protect and a sense of being protected, Troye moaned as their tongues met and engaged into a sensual waltz, which quickly sped up to a jazz. Connor's hands slipped under his T-shirt, sudden coldness stroking across his warm skin and sending a shudder through his body. Troye moaned again, eyes squeezed shut with passiveness caused by the delicious sensation of those cold hands still stroking his skin.

''Cause when you look like that  
I've never ever wanted to be so bad, oh  
It drives me wild.'

Connor fell back, dragging Troye with himself, and they kissed like never before, teeth clicking, lips moulding together in a pace they had set and aimed to intensify, tongues darting at each other and away, and then entwining again, hands gripping and exploring each others' bodies with equal parts tenderness and desperation, as if they would never get another chance to. Pure lust took over, fuelled by the torment they had endured for so long. Troye broke away, his hands seeking the hems of Connor's shirt and yanked it up, just as Connor pulled his t-shirt over his head. He licked his lips once, taking in a large bruise at the side of Connor's stomach, looking purple and horrendous against his tanned white skin. Rage and helplessness washed through him again, as Connor pulled his head down and smashed his lips against Troye's. His hips pressed against Troye's, friction between them increasing by the second. Connor wrapped his legs around his waist, tugging him impossibly closer and grinding his hips upwards till Troye struggled to breathe.

'My happy little pill  
Take me away  
Dry my eyes  
Bring color to my skies.'

Connor was his happy little pill, who made him feel completely happy by just being himself. They understood each other better than themselves. If what he felt wasn't love, he didn't know what love was. Sweet and gentle, yet desperate and passionate, they fell back, mouths fused together while Connor fumbled to strip him of his jeans. Troye whimpered loudly as Connor pressed his hand against his crotch, longing for the single fabric separating them to be off.

They broke away, eyes never leaving each other's, with their faces flushed and hair dishelved. Some of the melancholy dullness began to recede in Troye's mind. He reached out and swiftly undid Connor's jeans, tugging them down and letting Connor discard them carelessly. His consciousness bounced a little, unlike it's usual sleepy stance, as his feelings finally handed their reins to him.

'Night is young and we're living  
Hands move, moving steady  
And the time is moving slower  
I can feel we're getting closer, closer.'

Troye's eyes widened as Connor suddenly flipped him on the bed with his familiar dominance, resting his light weight on Troye's even lighter weight and pressing his wrists up beside his head. His heart reached a whole new level of excitement, as he felt Connor's lips graze the side of his jaw. He closed his eyes, biting his lips, as they moved lower, gently kissing and tugging at the side of his neck, tickling and nuzzling. Connor bit down suddenly, making Troye buck up his hips. He did it again, swirling his tongue over the pleasurable stinging his teeth left, before moving to the other side of Troye's neck.

'Oh my god - fuck!' Troye groaned, arching his neck. 'Connor...'

The only sounds were of their panting breaths, though there was a roaring cacophony inside Troye's head. His fingers caressed Connor's hair and back wondrously, afraid that he would disintegrate into nothingness in a moment. His body pressed back into the bed, as he felt Connor's form press heavier against him, his bare skin feeling warm and homely.

'Con,' Troye groaned, his voice coming out raspy, and his eyes rolled back as he felt deep, open-mouthed kisses across his chest and abdomen. Connor kissed him with an alternating pattern of tenderness and harshness, leaving all his nerve endings tingling with heightened anticipation. His stomach clenched with desire as those lips travelled down to his thighs and back to his neck with seemingly innocent oblivion to Troye's little problem.

'Cut it out, Con!' Troye moaned, glaring at the smirk Connor threw at him. He whined and tugged at the waistband of his boxers, mouth going dry at the impossibly rapid darkening of Connor's eyes.

'You,' Connor breathed. 'Are so fucking beautiful.' He kissed Troye again, hard enough to make his vision go blurry and his limbs languid and his boxers tighter.

'Too good to be good for me  
Too bad that's all I need.'

They were not only letting out their repressed feelings, but also grabbing hold of all opportunities, as if there was no tomorrow. As if this would never happen again. As if this was something stolen out of desperation, want and defiance, knowing that they would have to pay the price later, with interest.

'First drawer to the right?' Connor quirked up an eyebrow.

'Good to know your memory's fine,' Troye responded, all the sass in his voice ineffective because of his erratic breathing.

'So I take a sip, wait till it hits  
That liquid guilt is on my lips now.  
I'm wasted on you.'

-

'We'll run away, Tro, I can't live without you,' Connor rasped, curled up against Troye's side. A glimmer of hope bloomed in Troye's chest. He wouldn't overthink that though. He couldn't bear to have his hopes blossom, and then be pricked. He pressed a kiss on the top of his head, stroking the sweaty locks out of his eyes.

Tonight was not a night to think.

'Sure, Connie,' He breathed, clasping their lips together again, in a much slower, gentler, yet sweeter kiss. The melodies and lyrics he had been composing and fusing during the last few years rang through his ears, perfectly in synchronization with his feelings. It was Connor, who had influenced the entire album, if it could be called an album.

'Will it always be this way, Tro?' Connor asked him childishly, running a hand across his face. He rolled off Troye, setting down flat on his back. Troye sighed, moving closer to him, as he contemplated what to say.

'No, it gets better,' He said at last, his face pressed in the crook of Connor's neck. The confusion and hurt radiating off him slashed at his heart viciously. 'Look at Derrick; he had to go through so much, but he's fine now.'

Or as fine as he could ever be, treated as an outcast by half the people. The unspoken thought washed through his mind, just as it must have run through Connor's too.

'It's my dad, Tro,' Connor confessed, looking up at the ceiling. 'I don't get him. I feel as if he's a stranger now. I've known that he has his quirks, and he can be unreasonable at times, but today was just terrifying.' His voice cracked a little. 'He's never hit me so much before, and I literally used to think that he was the coolest person on the planet. I kinda drew apart from him when he found out about us and forced me to break it off with you, but - '

He drew in a shaky breath. Troye reached out and stroked his forehead, his limbs wearying now that the high had worn off. 'I think I hate him, Tro.'

'You think that, but I'm sure you don't,' Troye replied dryly. 'I've seen the bond you share, Con, and I'm pretty sure both of you love each other, yet are too stubborn to back down. Besides, hate's a strong word, baby, and I don't think it belongs to you.'

'Since when did my kitten get so wise?' Connor chuckled weakly, looking over at Troye, the beam of light through the window catching the glint of green in his eyes perfectly.

'The kitten grew up,' Troye replied, matter-of-factly. Connor turned to face him, eyes glinting bright. Troye shook his head once, smiling reassuringly, before leaning forward to peck his lips. He tasted of sweat and sex, but also of his innate Connor-essence.

'I don't want to go back,' Connor sighed, when they broke away for air. 'I don't think I'll be able to handle anything like today again.'

'Connah,' Troye breathed, his blood chilling at the way Connor said it so casually. 'It's okay, baby, I'm sure he'll not have noticed you gone. You'll be fine.' Troye was dubious of his own words, but he had to stay confident for Connor's sake.

'He's good at the vigilance thing,' Connor chuckled humorlessly. 'He did a swell job for a year, remember?'

'You said he was drunk this time,' Troye protested, his heart sinking, feeling like he was giving Connor's fears ammunition and not barricades. 'You'll be fine.'

Connor shook his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 'Let's not talk about that,' He muttered. 'I'm not going anywhere tonight.'

'Good,' Troye huffed, turning around so that Connor could spoon him from behind. He rested his head against Connor's chest contentedly, as Connor's arm wrapped around his waist, electrifying the bare skin. 'I'm not letting you go anywhere. I've got something for you.'

He said the words out loud the moment he thought them, and instantly stiffened. He had been planning something for Connor, true, but it wasn't complete yet, even though he was modestly infatuated with what he had come up so far.

'What do I get?'

Troye sighed, becoming excited now. 'Close your eyes,' He instructed. 'I'm going to sing you to sleep.'

'Really?' Connor whispered in his ear. 'Thank you.'

Troye waited for a moment, till Connor had made himself comfortable and scooted as close to Troye as possible, his head resting on Troye's shoulder. He closed his eyes himself, and began to sing the rawest song he had ever written.

'You don't have to say I love you to say I love you  
Forget all the shooting stars and the silver moons  
We've been making shades of purple out of red and blue  
Sickening sweet like honey, don't need money  
All I need is you.'


	4. Chapter 4

Connor felt nothing, absolutely nothing, as the sturdy hand that had held his while teaching him to paint, bunched into a fist and smashed into his face. He felt his lip split open, as if in retribution for the few hours of pleasure he had stolen.

'Where have you been, you little shit?'

'Nowhere,' He stuttered out, more afraid of the popping vein in his dad's forehead than the hands that slammed against his body repeatedly. He knew it was a blatant lie; his shirt was inside-out, his hair was ruffled, his lips were swollen and there were probably hickeys on his neck.

'You were with your fag friend, weren't you?' Connor winced as his dad's hands wrapped strongly around his collar. His body paralyzed, as he stood closer to his dad than before, in greater proximity of worse blows.

'No,' He managed to squeak, feeling the numbness recede, as his back hit the bed, hard. The familiar fear filled him up, bubbling in his stomach, choking his throat, clouding his vision, as he felt hands bunching at the hem of his shirt to pin him down. A sharp crack echoed around the room, as his cheek throbbed with the impact, and just as quickly, more blows rained on his sides.

Connor whimpered, tears leaking from his closed eyes, as another blow made him gasp loudly. He couldn't bear it, he wasn't as strong as Troye was, even though he was definitely the extrovert. He was ready to beg and plead; anything to stop this madness. Adrenaline raced through his veins, as he drew in a shaky breath, noticing that nobody was beating him.

His dad was watching him, his mouth pressed in a thin line, breathing heavily. Connor whimpered again, terrified as the man who had been his hero since his childhood suddenly morphed into a monster.

'You fucked him, didn't you?' Connor flinched, moving his body back as his dad reached out a hand and touched his neck. Troye had been a little too enthusiastic, and Connor had let him, not being any better himself. 'You really are a fag.'

'No,' Connor choked, his voice coming out high-pitched, earning himself another look of deep disgust.

'I can't believe I raised a fag for a son. I was so proud of you; I thought you'd grow up to be the man I had always imagined my son to be. But no, you turned out to be a weak, fucked-up, pathetic little fag. All because of that Mellet kid. I should have kept you away from that bastard ever since I found out.'

'Don't speak about Troye that way,' Connor snapped immediately. His eyes widened, and he clapped his hands over his mouth.

'If I see him with you one more time, I'll kill both of you!' His dad shouted, his face turning red again. Connor curled up as much as he could, weakly holding out his hands to fend off the pounding blows. That seemed to anger his dad even more, as Connor gripped his hands and tried to push him away. He felt especially more vulnerable in the position he was in, as the latest punch left him doubled up, unable to breathe, as the pain sliced through him like hot knives. He couldn't decipher the mental pain from the physical. He couldn't sense the time. He just lay there, curled up into a ball, as the room grew darker, thinking about a curly-haired boy with his innocent angelic face, long bony hands that seemed to know his body better than anyone. They always touched him the way he wanted, without him ever saying it aloud, and the soft breezy voice with the Australian accent soothed him, no matter what it spoke.

A silence hung heavy in the closed room, as yet another day passed without Connor being aware of the shift from morning to night. But it was far from soothing. It was brooding and morose, with an air of finality that made dread curl up in Connor's stomach. He turned his head slightly, pressing his cheek into a pillow. It felt really cool, but it was warmth he craved, the warmth of a soft hand with long fingers and whose touch sent him reeling, in the most amazing way possible.

Last night had been totally spectacular, a fact he didn't even try to hide from himself as it sprung up in his mind. Despite the way he got punished for it, he wouldn't have it any other way. He and Troye had got the most intimate two people can get, and the bond that was shared by their souls was stronger than ever, if not more. Troye's scent still lingered on him, and so did the feel of him in his arms. He could visualise Troye's face, and how perfectly it fit in both of his hands, and how perfectly their lips melded together.

Doubtfully, he allowed himself to think of a future. For a moment, all that appeared was swirling greyness that stretched out a hand towards him menacingly. His face was swollen from crying and being hit, and his body ached all over. But he was ready to cope with all that, only to hold on to a small glimmer of hope that had sprung up in his chest. The grayness turned blue gradually, making the dread rarefy a little. All the happy memories shared with Troye, all their kisses and makeout sessions and hiding it from everyone, crept in his mind, making a corner of his mouth quirk up a little.

This was what it felt to be happy and sad at the same time. Burrowing into the pillow, imagining it to be Troye's chest, Connor drifted away into a dreamless sleep.

_  
'You want to watch a movie?' Troye asked, emerging from the kitchen with a jar of Nutella in one hand. Connor smirked, striding over to him and immediately pulling him in for a kiss. 'Connah, you sure you want to do this right here?' Troye pressed a palm against his chest to hold him off, looking over his shoulder nervously._

_'Why not?' Connor purred. 'My dad just went out. He won't be home for a few hours, and Mom's out as well. Might as well have some fun.' He took the Nutella from Troye's hand and set it down gently, before turning back to Troye. Grabbing him by the hips, Connor tugged him close to himself, dipping his head to kiss him, which Troye allowed this time. They collapsed on the couch, Troye's light weight resting on him, as they just explored the feel of each other's bodies, mouths moving in tiny, sipping kisses._

_'I think we forgot the movie,' Troye commented, his breathing ragged, when they broke away. 'And my Nutella too.'_

_'Who cares about the movie?' Connor snorted. 'And as for your Nutella, you have me, which is a way better option.'_

_'Ew, Con,' Troye made a face, giggling. 'No, thanks. Now let me go get it.'_

_'No,' Connor whined, tightening his hold around Troye, who struggled for a moment, before resigning, letting his head fall against Connor's chest, directly over his heart._

_'Oh my God, your heartbeat is so fast,' Troye said wonderingly, pressing his head deeper against Connor's chest. Connor hummed, running his hands through Troye's unruly curls, the soft strands caressing his fingers._

_'I wonder why,' Connor rolled his eyes. Troye chuckled once, before sliding his hand over to grasp Connor's. He gently guided it to his chest, laying it flat against the left side of his lean torso._

_'You aren't the only one,' Troye murmured, and Connor smiled wonderingly as he felt a similarly erratic heart drumming under his fingers. They looked at each other shyly for a moment, before leaning in like shy teenagers on a first date, leaning in for their first kiss. Connor felt a fulfilling happiness explode in his gut, as his eyes closed at the feel of Troye's soft luscious lips over his own._

_'Tro?' Connor began hesitantly. 'Should I-should I come out?' It had been something he had always thought he would have to do one day, but that 'one day' would never come because he would never allow it to._

_'Do you want to?' Troye asked curiously, his blue eyes warm._

_'No,' Connor said immediately._

_'Do it when you're ready then.'_

_'What if I'm never ready?'_

_'Trust me, you'll be, soon enough,' Troye said softly. 'It's the only way out at times, when the load on your chest threatens to crush you.'_

_'So, was I the first person you came out to?' Connor asked hesitantly, remembering his reaction and feeling heat creep up his face._

_'Yeah,' Troye said simply. 'Then Derrick, then my dad. They were amazing, and told me that it didn't matter in the slighest about what kind of a person I was, and they would love me the same.'_

_'That's nice,' Connor said sheepishly. 'So should I tell my parents?'_

_'How do you think they'll react?'_

_'My dad will get a blue fit,' Connor sighed, sinking further into the couch. 'I don't know about mom though; she's unpredictable.'_

_'Oh,' Troye said softly, running his hand over Connor's jawline. He bent down and kissed the side of Connor's mouth softly, sending the resting butterflies in his stomach into a shrieking frenzy. 'So your dad might be a problematic case, right?'_

_'Beyond problematic,' Connor shook his head. 'Remember when he found out about Derrick? It's been seven years, yet he hasn't spoken to anyone in your family since then.'_

_'I know,' Troye pressed his lips together. 'Don't do anything till you're a hundred percent comfortable with yourself. Take your time, and remember, I'm always there for you.'_

_'Thanks, Tro,' Connor kissed him softly and gratefully. Troye grunted once, his face splitting into a wide grin, as he made himself more comfortable on the couch. Connor hummed in amusement and content, as Troye scrambled into his favorite position-in Connor's lap._

_'Let's hope we don't fall asleep,' Troye said nervously. 'I really do not want to be outed this way.'_

_'We won't,' Connor reassured. 'At least, you can, if you want to. I'll just hold you, and watch you sleep.'_

_'Well, if that isn't creepy at all,' Troye deadpanned. 'What if you fall asleep yourself?'_

_'I won't,' Connor reassured, tousling up Troye's hair. 'Do you want to sleep or not? I could sing a lullaby, though I'm warning you, my voice is worse than a crow's.'_

_Troye grinned, snuggling comfortably against Connor's chest. 'I think I'll pass, Con Bon.'  
_

'Are you still in there?'

Connor sat up straight at the sound of the rough voice. Almost instinctively, he cowered back as his dad glared down at him. 'Hurry up, get yourself presentable. You have someone to see you.'

'Who?' Connor perked up.

'Millicent Howards.'

Connor sagged back. For the wildest and most foolish moment of his life, he had thought it was Troye.

'Get up! Now!'

Connor shot up in a hurry, in no condition to even think of a repeat of something like the morning. He grabbed a clean shirt, and stumbled in his hurry to get to the bathroom to fix his hair, flushing red as his dad muttered something sarcastically and left the room, shutting the door sharply behind him.

In the bathroom, Connor locked the door behind him with trembling fingers, sinking down with a thudding heart once he was behind the locked door. Was this what he had been reduced to now? A frightened puppet prancing to his father's orders? Connor breathed in deeply, resisting the urge to punch the mirror in front of him. He could rage all he wanted here, when he was all alone, but all that would disappear in a puff as soon as he appeared in front of his dad.

His childhood hero had raised him to be fearless and confident with everyone else but himself.

_  
Connor ignored the sweat beads running over his face, and the stiffness in his back, as he stood painting the hull of the boat. He grit his teeth, focusing all his energy to the single task of painting. His thoughts were concentrated and pinpointed on the task as well, leaving no room for wandering away. He would be lost for ever, if he ever allowed them to wander away._

_'Good work, son,' His dad spoke up, and Connor wasn't even fazed when the voice spoke up suddenly next to his ear. He conjured up a small smile, and nodded once. 'Take a break now, Con.'_

_'I'm good,' Connor shrugged._

_'No, son,' His dad squeezed his shoulder gently. 'Ten minutes break can't hurt you, nor the boat. Give her a break too.'_

_Connor nodded stiffly, putting the brush back in the pail. He covered it with the tin lid, ensuring that it wouldn't dry up. He returned his dad's smile a little hesitantly, feeling a part of him relax, as he glimpsed his hero again._

_It had been a month, since Connor's dad had caught them on the couch. He had simply and curtly asked Troye to leave, which the latter had refused to. It was only after Connor urged him to go, had he gone, his face tight with fear and tension. Connor hadn't protested at all when his dad had slapped him once, and told him 'to never even look at that fag again.'_

_Connor had bottled everything up, giving him a heavy weight he carried around. That brought out a crease between his brows, and a pinched look of his lips that radiated his bitterness and impatience with almost everything. He walked beside his dad now, slightly uncomfortable with his dad's arm around him, as he cracked jokes that used to have him in splits once upon a time. Now, he just answered with a polite smile or a forced chuckle._

_An unbidden memory of a pink octopus on a tree branch floated into Connor's mind, making his eyebrows scrunch together, in nostalgia, sadness, frustration, anger; a medley of emotions. As he passed the very tree, his breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of a familiar figure standing huddled by the gate._

_His first instinct was to run across to him, and scoop him up in his arms. Anything to get that confused and lost expression off his face. Troye looked a hurt kid, who was trying his best not to let his pain show, but it was too much to be held back by the mask. Their eyes locked, and Connor felt a familiar spark ignite in him, burning away through the numbness._

_'Oh, it's your fag friend,' Connor's dad commented, skidding to a stop beside him. 'Aren't you going to invite him in?'_

_Connor's face burned, as his hands clenched into fists. He would not give in to the bait. Taking a deep breath, he strode forward, drawing upon his dormant rage and frustration to fuel him to overcome the love and longing he felt._

_'What're you doing here?' Connor growled._

_'Connah,' Troye breathed, his eyes widening._

_'Did you not get the hint? I want nothing more to do with you, so fucking go away from here and never come back.'_

_The hurt on seeing the color drain out Troye's face was like a stab in the chest, but he ignored it, roughly shoving Troye's shoulder, secretly just to initiate some physical contact between them. He began to lead him towards the gate, ignoring Troye's cracked voice and whispered protests, feeling his dad's eyes boring into him._

_'I don't need any faggots near me, so get the fuck away,' He spat, feeling the knife twist deeper. Troye's eyes glimmered brightly, his expression making him look softer and more vulnerable than ever. Instead of getting angry or shoving him back, he was still being gentle._

_He didn't deserve someone like Troye._

_Troye was too good for him._

_The knife twisted again, yielding blood, as he shoved Troye through the gate roughly and slammed it shut, but not before getting the final image of Troye standing radiant in sunshine imprinted in his mind.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just putting it out, flashbacks are not in a sequence. I hope it's not confusing.


	5. Chapter 5

_'Troye, you're my best friend, you know that, don't you?'_

_Troye laughed, turning to give Connor an incredulous look. 'Of course I know that, silly! You're my best friend too.'_

_They were watching the TV in the large spacious living room of Troye's house. After spending most of the days outside, playing in the scorching sun, they were quite happy to have a lazy day indoors. But, Connor being Connor, had got upto mischief when he had spotted Troye's water gun and chased him around the house, laughing gleefully at his friend's squeals. Troye had secretly enjoyed the game too, though he pretended to glare and huff. They had managed to clean up most of it, and now were letting nature do the remaining work._

_'No, it's just that I've never had one before.'_

_'Me neither,' Troye laughed a little. 'I'm glad I found you. Not making any friends was the only thing I was scared of, when we moved.'_

_'I'm glad you moved here too. Will you ever move again?'_

_'I hope not, Con,' Troye's eyes widened. 'I would hate that.'_

_'Not unless we went together,' Connor replied._

_'Oh yes!' Troye exclaimed. 'But I like it here. So I hope something like that never happens.'_

_'Me too,' Connor echoed._

 

'What are you doing with your life, Troye?'

'Why have your grades gone down again?'

'Is there a problem, Mr Mellet? Sorry, Mr Sivan?'

'Get a life, emo!'

'Freak! Gaywad!'

'You can't lose control over yourself like this, son.'

'Shit happens, little bro. It's hard, but you have to move on.'

The medley of voices, ranging from pitying to condescending, coalesced in Troye's mind, causing him to bend his head down and hunch his shoulders, forcing his feet to shuffle along and support him. He was sure he would collapse in a heap, and never get up again, if he allowed that to happen. Couldn't they see how hard he was fighting? How desperately he was clinging to the edge, when the dark vortex attracted him like a magnet?

Troye was walking around in his usual aimless fashion, hands shoved in his pockets. Luckily for him, the street was almost deserted. He breathed a tiny sigh of dull relief. At least the sideways glances and snide comments wouldn't pierce through his gloom this time. He didn't care about their opinions, but that didn't mean he wasn't affected. They would penetrate through the numb veil that cloaked him, and even though he felt their impact like dull thunks, they did leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

He wished he could just leave, and start over as a new person. He had resorted to using his wrists and thighs as canvases again, but it didn't help this time. He had immediately felt ashamed of himself after he saw himself properly, for breaking his promise to Derrick. The first time had been when he had come out to Connor, and had the air knocked out of him by Connor's reaction. After endless sleepless nights and feeling like a dead weight, he had used the blade of his spare razor to inflict deep thin cuts on his wrists, feeling immediate relief as the pain overwhelmed the numbness and cleared his senses.

He had always been bad at hiding stuff, it seems, or Derrick knew him inside out. He had been caught the very next day, but to his surprise, Derrick hadn't got mad. He had simply comforted him, and extracted a promise of never doing it again. He hadn't told their dad either, and that's when Troye had realized that his brother had been through the same things.

If Derrick could hold his head high and be the person he really was, why couldn't Troye?

That was how he motivated himself every time he felt close to a relapse. Then Connor had officially become his, and there was no need for that. The two years had been the happiest years in Troye's life, followed by a melancholy period of a year. Then there were two euphoric days, and now this was hell. The graph of his life was never constant. The ups and downs refused to smoothen down in a straight line, squabbling over who would get the higher peak.

That's probably how life works, Troye reckoned. If it did become a straight line, that would mean his heart had stopped, which it hadn't. It beat strongly, pining for a certain green-eyed boy with his chestnut-brown hair styled into a quiff. He closed his eyes, Connor's face floating into his mind, his head thrown back, laughing. Troye inhaled sharply, closing his eyes, holding the image in place even though it hurt him physically. It had been two months, and Connor had resorted to his previous stance of not acknowledging Troye's existence, and hiding away with his group of faithful friends at school.

'I'm tired of this place; I hope people change  
I need time, to replace  
What I gave away.'

His Connor would come back. He refused to let go. It was all an act, just to pacify his dad. Troye knew what kind of a bond he shared with his dad. He had himself admired the man deeply, till the tiff between him and his own dad. Connor would be back. He was still Troye's.

'And my hopes, they're high;  
I must keep them small.'

Troye hummed softly under his breath, the lyrics rolling off his tongue smoothly and desperately. He had turned to music to keep from being pulled under. Every song had been worked upon, till he was satisfied with every note, every lyric and every beat. The emotions he had managed to curb during the last year broke free with just two days with Connor.

Connor always pulled him undone. No matter how much he braced himself to be tough, it took just a glance at Connor or a touch, and he was totally raw. That's why Troye felt as though a bulldozer had run across his heart, when he spotted the familiar quiff in the distance, moving towards him. His first instinct was to run across to him, and bury his face against his chest. The sight of a blond-haired girl walking beside Connor stopped him. Their arms brushed every second or so, and her intentions were obvious from her expression and animated chatter.

Troye forced himself to slow to a nonchalant leisurely pace, though his insides were burning. A similar burning flushed through his face and neck, making him gnash his teeth together. Jealousy was a totally new emotion for Troye, and he obviously couldn't handle it. Chainsaws seemed to rake on the inside of his throat and chest, breaking through the numbness and drawing fresh wounds. Wounds that probably wouldn't heal easily. Wounds that would probably require new wounds to heal.

Connor looked unruffled, to any casual observer, but Troye saw instantly how hunched-up and tense he was. His lips were pressed tightly together, and would often curve up in a smile, but never part. They always parted to show his pearly white teeth, when Connor laughed genuinely. The way Troye could make him laugh. The chainsaws seemed to pause a little, but they were still there, waiting. Troye felt his heart stop, and he sucked in a deep breath, as their paths approached.

The blond reached out her hand the same moment Connor smiled (tightly), or was he the one to reach out first? Somehow, in the blink of an eye, their fingers were interlinked, the intimate way Troye used to hold hands with him. In a split second, they had passed each other, without any sign of ever noticing the other's existence. Troye couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, his heart constricting as they had somehow scooted closer to each other. His gaze was unable to tear itself away from their hands. The chainsaws roared in glee, as Troye pressed his palms against his face, his shoulders beginning to shake.

'Only fools fall for you,  
Only fools fall.  
Only fools do what I do, only fools.'

Misgivings crept up on him, to be dismissed the very next second. He still clung on his beliefs, though a part of his brain had now disjointed and now kept taunting him about it. The fact that he refused to give up hope and stop chasing the boy he had given his heart to, made him feel even more pathetic. Troye pulled his jacket tighter around himself, the fire that had previously sprung up him going out mournfully. Even the embers seemed to have died down completely, leaving him cold and shivering and weary.

The truth runs wild  
Like a tear down a cheek  
Trying to save face, and daddy heart break  
I'm lying through my teeth

Troye turned back, making for his house. Warm sensations in his eyes threatened to break free, and this time, he didn't see a need to repress them. His breaths came out in short pants, as he jogged back blindly, dimly aware of the rhythmic sound of the concrete hitting his feet. He wasn't going to allow himself to fall face-first and just lie there in defeat. He couldn't do that. He wouldn't give up, even though it was killing him to continue this way.

_'Um, Connah?' Troye scratched the back of his neck, standing a few feet away from Connor, who was down on his knees, working on a particularly splintered bit of wood. The boat was his pride and joy, just the way it was for Connor's dad._

_'Yeah, Tro?' Connor asked, without looking up. His lean muscles flexed under his loose t-shirt, making Troye bite his lip, and hope that the red flush on his cheeks would be excused for sun burn. Connor's face was tinted in its usual shade of permanent rouge, contrasting against his walnut-brown locks. Troye stood silent, observing every inch of Connor while trying not to make it too obvious._

_'Um, you changed your ear stud,' Troye stuttered out lamely, kicking himself mentally. Connor looked up at him, and Troye could have sworn his heart stopped. Connor's mouth opened slightly in a grin, his green eyes crinkling._

_'Yes,' Connor agreed lightly, his expression turning amused. Troye looked away immediately, taking a step back as Connor got to his feet. Connor would see through him immediately, he knew._

_'You look like a tomato,' Connor commented, resting his hands on his hips and stretching. Troye's heart threatened to burst right out of his chest. How the hell had he become so hopelessly subservient to his feelings? Thankfully his jeans weren't too tight-fitting._

_'The sun's hot,' Troye answered, feeling lame as the last syllable rolled off his tongue. He took a deep breath, preparing himself the way he did when he would rip off a bandaid. 'Anyway, I want to tell you something.'_

_'Yeah? Everything okay?' Connor asked, coming a bit closer. Troye instinctively took a step back, and cursed himself for the expression on Connor's face. The face he had seen grow from a young kid's to a gorgeous teenager's. Even though they were only fourteen, Connor had lost all the puppy fat and grown into a lean muscled guy, his cheekbones standing out with smooth definition. Troye, on the other hand, had only grown taller and a little sinewy. He still remained his skinny self with wild curly hair._

_'I mean, let's go to the back,' Troye covered, trying to force a smile. Connor nodded, looking less confused, and lead the way. Troye trotted behind him, trying not to check him out too obviously, treading the familiar mud path he had run across more than a million times. Nothing had changed in seven years. The grove of trees was still just as sturdy and dense, and so was the large brick house Connor lived in. They had painted it last year, but it still exactly the same. Troye had helped, of course, and they had ended up splashing the leftover paint over each other at the end, much to Connor's dad's disapproval. Ruben had shaken his head, muttering 'Boys will be boys' and let it go. Much to Troye's relief, he had become consistently less frigid to him, and he tried not to think how all that would change soon._

_Troye felt a soft smile ease its way onto his face as the old tree came in front of him. In a swift motion, they were scrambling up it, to their favorite branch, leaning against the trunk. Troye squeaked out loud as Connor shuffled closer to him casually and slipped an arm around his shoulders. He eagerly pressed into the embrace, trying not to let the phrase 'just as friends' sound lecherously in his ear._

_'What happened?' Connor asked, his voice soft and sending tingles down Troye's spine._

_'Connor, I'm gay,' Troye blurted out. He clenched his hands, trying to stop the shaking. He didn't dare look at Connor, but his heart broke when Connor removed his arm. As if to taunt him, the sun had to go behind a cloud, making the temperature drop. A cool breeze, normally pleasant, made goosebumps appear on his arms and the back of his neck, making him miss the warmth of Connor's warm embrace. He so badly wanted to cry, and have Connor hold him and say, 'It's okay.' Months of sleepless nights, screaming at his reflection in his mirror, hating and punishing himself weighed down on him. Saying it out loud had felt so uplifting. Troye trembled as the magnitude of what had happened washed through him._

_'Connah?' Troye could hear the plea in his own voice. He was thankful he didn't confess the entire truth at once._

_'You're a faggot?'  
_

His legs finally gave way when he managed to stagger up the stairs. He just had to walk through the door, and through the living room, to his bedroom, but his body refused to co-operate. Now, he would just have to drag himself in.

'Troye?'

Derrick was at home. Troye pressed his lips together, trying to gather his expression together. He knew he wouldn't be able to speak at all, so coming up with a lie at that moment was out of question. He looked up at his brother mutely, trying to muster up a smile, but it must have come off as a grimace, because Derrick was crouched down beside him in a flash, concern glinting in his brown eyes. Troye was the one who had got their mom's blue eyes.

It was no use. Tears began flowing down Troye's face the moment Derrick wrapped an arm around him, and pulled him to his chest.

'I'm pretty sure he got beat up again,' Troye choked. 'And now he's with some girl.'

'Shh, Tro,' Derrick hushed, rubbing his back. 'You know it's an act, don't you? Connor would never do that to you.'

'I love him,' Troye sobbed. 'I love him so fucking much.'

'He loves you too,' Derrick said firmly. 'You just need to give time to these things, to sort themselves out.'

'How much time? The last two months have almost killed me,' Troye sniffled, his voice coming out muffled. His body shook uncontrollably, though he drew some comfort from his brother's strong embrace. He felt a finger cup his chin, raising his head up till he reluctantly made eye contact. Derrick was his usual cool self, but his eyes were conflicted and anguished, though he was trying to hide it.

'I had my first serious boyfriend when I was nineteen. Everything else was just casual hook-ups. People have taken advantage of me for far more times than I would care to admit. Yet I'm still standing. Very few people have the courage to come out as openly gay here, and you are one of them. Be proud of that. I know many people who pretend to be straight, because they are too afraid to come out, like Connor.'

Troye gasped out aloud at his name, but Derrick pressed on. 'I've seen what you guys have. It's no hookup, nor is either of you taking advantage of the other. You guys are still young. You have your life ahead of you. Just trust him, and yourself, and go with the flow. It gets better, I promise.'

Troye could dare to hope, after all. Weary from letting his emotions overwhelm him, he slumped against Derrick, his head falling on his shoulder. He was too tired to even summon up a smile at Derrick's mock grumbling about having to carry him to his room. He did smile when Derrick pressed a small kiss to his forehead, and scooped him up easily.

Troye was asleep even as Derrick tucked him in. It was a dreamless dead sleep, true, but anything was better than the numb despair that had him awake for endless nights.


	6. Chapter 6

_Connor stumbled, his eyes squinting against the strong salty wind, his ears ringing with the soft plishing of the waves against the sand, as he tried to run ahead. Troye, in a rare moment, danced ahead, laughing, clutching his toy sword to his chest. Connor couldn't help but smile softly, admiring his friend's tinkling laugh, and the way his soft curls bounced about his forehead, sparkling a honey coloured brown in the dim rays of the setting sun. He really couldn't have asked for a better friend, and there was no one better than Troye._

_They had totally exhausted themselves; running, chasing, tackling each other with swords, playing as pirates, swimming and just being in high spirits. But even though their limbs gave them bleary glares, somehow, the mere sight of each other boosted their spirits once again, as if a mere second could not be wasted in lazing around._

_'I'm tired,' Troye proclaimed, sinking down. 'Ew, I hope there're no crabs in this sand.'_

_'How can you hate the sand?' Connor laughed, collapsing next to him. 'You're just dumb.'_

_'You're dumber,' Troye stuck out his tongue at him._

_'Did you like swimming?'_

_'I loved it!' Troye exclaimed, lying back in the sand. Connor did the same, smiling in pleasure as the sun directly warmed his body from above while the sand cooled it from underneath. 'I'll never be scared again.'_

_'Great!' Connor beamed. 'Look, are those our dads?' He pointed in the distance lazily, to three distinct figures. Troye sat up too, squinting. Not many people came to that part of the beach, so Connor suspected that he was right. They must have probably spent the entire time drinking from the flask his dad loved so much, or gone to fish, or smoked cigars; stuff which grown guys did._

_'Con?' Troye said seriously, sitting up. Slightly uneasy by his expression and tone, Connor followed his gaze. One of the figures appeared to be pushing the other. It wouldn't be their dads then; they were really good friends. 'I think we should go see.'_

_'Okay,' Connor agreed readily. He put on his shirt, and gathered up their stuff, seeing Troye do the same. They started jogging towards the people in the distance. Connor slowed his pace on purpose, so that he could keep with Troye and latter realised it, judging from his grateful smile._

_'That's Derrick!' Troye said suddenly, pointing. Sure enough, it was. Connor saw with a sinking heart that it was his dad who was gripping Derrick by the shoulder tightly, his other hand curled into a fist. Troye's brother had his usual cool look on his face, though his jaw was set tightly. Troye's dad stood nervously between them, holding out a hand to both of them._

_'Oh my God, Con, I don't like it when people hurt Derrick,' Troye breathed, looking frightened._

_'Who's hurt him before?' Connor asked curiously._

_'I don't know,' Troye shook his head. 'But I've seen him hurt. He always said it was some jerks, and that it didn't matter. But it does, to me. I don't like it.'_

_Derrick must have said something, judging by this arm gestures, which caused Connor's dad to raise his voice. He was about to hit him, Connor realised with shock, as Troye flinched next to him. Troye's dad intervened then, and Derrick gently dusted off the arm gripping his shoulder, causing Connor's dad to get madder._

_'I'm going to stop them,' Troye said suddenly. Sprinting ahead, he broke into a run, screaming something inaudible. Connor followed him, his heart beating fast too. Something told him that this wasn't going to end well. He reached at the same time as Troye, launching himself at his dad, who was about punch Troye's dad. He pushed at his dad's chest with all his might, seeing Troye do the same, till they were standing a few feet apart._

_'Fucking faggots,' Connor's dad spat, wrenching his arm away from Connor. He threw down the glass bottle he was holding in his other hand, making everyone jump as the glass shattered instantly. Connor looked nervously at Troye, who was standing close to Derrick, exchanging a scared look, while Derrick and his dad both gave him sad smiles._

_Connor had no choice but to leave with his dad, looking back at Troye with a longing face. Somehow, he knew that things would never be the same again._

'Millicent's here, Con,' Connor's dad said jovially, poking his head in through the door. Connor nodded, trying to smile. He ran a quick hand through his hair to smooth it down, and stood up, just as the blond pranced into the room.

'Connie baby!' She squealed, flinging herself at him. Connor winced slightly, but straightened his expression immediately as she placed her head on his shoulder, gripping him around his waist. Over her head, he saw his dad smile at them and leave the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He sighed inwardly; nothing could save him behind the closed door now.

She moved her head, resting it against his heart, and began tracing patterns across his torso.

No.

Only Troye was allowed to do that.

In a sudden burst of frustration, Connor gripped her wrists, forcing her on her back on the bed. She giggled, obviously mistaking it for passion, as he straddled her, resting his weight on his elbows. She was pretty, no doubt, but incomparable to a certain blue-eyed Australian. Closing his eyes, Connor began to work on the side of her neck, thoughtlessly allowing his lips to work their way, nibbling and sucking at the skin there. He tuned out her moans, as she arched up and raked her nails along his back.

It was like going to the doctor. When you have something nasty to bear with, you just grit your teeth and turn on a mental countdown, trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. He had slid her top over her head, and unbuttoned her jeans without even realizing what he was doing. Her sharp nails raked along his stomach, meaning that she must have unbuttoned his shirt too. 

Connor tried not to recoil too obviously, as she fastened her lips against his. They felt wet and leech-like. Connor suppressed another shudder as the thought crossed his mind. Goosebumps crawled along his flesh, and a cold dread filled his stomach, clawing at him from the inside. He felt an urge to push her away and cover himself up.

With a gasp, he rolled away and lay on his back, his heart drumming with the realization of what he was doing. Millicent, mistaking his emotions again, curled up beside him, whispering stuff in his ear that he barely paid heed too, the image of a blue-eyed boy persistantly flashing in his mind. He would have done anything to have the boy back in his arms, instead of Millicent.

_The sound of the crass music still pulsated in Connor's ears, when he was a block away from the club. He sighed remorsefully, playing with the strap of the DSLR in his hand. His plans for a night photography shoot had gone up in smoke, when his friends spotted him on their way to a party. He had had no choice but to tag along, shoving his camera away safely in a bag, before he surrendered to a night full of drinking and dancing and letting girls fawn over him. His mouth twisted sourly, and he rubbed the side of his neck in irritation, to rid it of the wet kisses placed by a certain determined blond named Millicent._

_It was no secret that half the female population of the neighborhood had a crush on him, a fact that left him flushing red and making him shrug with forced nonchalance. He didn't completely hate all the attention. It just felt really good, to feel liked and admired._

_The other half had a crush on Troye Sivan._

_His friend Troye Sivan._

_Childhood best friend._

_Ever since Troye had confessed to him that he was gay, something had come between them. They hung out and talked as usual, and never brought up that topic again, just the way they never spoke about Troye's brother Derrick. But the easy confidence of confidance was gone. It seemed like every joke was carefully thought out and analyzed, to prevent anything inappropriate from slipping out. They never had to censor themselves before._

_Girls tried their hardest to not show how they felt for Troye, because he was a social outcast, but his spell over them always broke them. Connor smiled softly to himself, recalling the scene in his school almost every day, when Troye would enter. He stopped to take out his camera, feeling that the yellow lamppost would make an amazing photograph. Guys would start tittering and yelling insults, while the girls pretended to join in and laugh. But once glance at him left them blushing red and stuttering. Troye always marched past them without a glance, wearing dark-coloured clothes that highlighted his smooth alabaster skin. His long skinny frame with a face that looked younger for its age, yet with eyes that showed maturity, and a mop of dark curly hair were absolute literal perfection._

_The same lean body lay curled up on its side at the base of the lamppost, making Connor almost drop his camera. He sprinted forward, dropping down on his knees painfully, his hands immediately gripping Troye's shoulders. His heart wrenched with fear and pain, as Troye slowly uncurled, groaning. His clothes were crumpled and messy, and stained with a few blood drops. Connor bit his lip grimly, feeling physical pain himself on watching his friend in this condition. He gently helped Troye straighten himself, till Troye lay flat on his back, his head supported by Connor's hand. He breathed heavily, eyes closed in pain, his arms wrapped around his torso. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his mouth, darker than the patchwork of bruises across his face._

_'Tro?' Connor hushed, wiping away the blood. Troye groaned in reply, the sound hurting Connor even more than seeing him like that. He decided to skip the questioning. 'Can you stand up?'_

_Connor gently helped him get to his feet, supporting his weight almost by himself. He wrapped an arm steadily around Troye's lean waist, and felt his heart skip a beat oddly as Troye rested his head on his shoulder. There was no one about, except for a ginger cat that came in the way, and was shooed away gently by Connor. He could make out how Troye was in pain, even though the latter didn't protest once. It was hurting him to even move, let alone walk. He tried to support as much of him as possible, and kept whispering soothing words, to which Troye grunted._

_Connor decided to go to Troye's house, since his was much further, and he didn't feel he could cope with watching Troye hurt one moment more. It astonished him how anguished he felt himself, watching Troye's laboured breathing and closed eyes, not to mention the bruises and blood. Troye was his childhood best friend, and he cared deeply for him, but this was insane. He noticed for the first time how pale Troye's skin was, and how hollow his face looked. He had put it down to naturally lean cheekbones, but it was clearly something else. Come to think of it, this was how Troye looked these days._

_Their feet shuffled along noiselessly on the concrete. To Connor's alarm, Troye sagged suddenly, gritting his teeth hard. He would have fallen flat if Connor hadn't caught him. Gasping, he lurched back to his feet with Connor's help. Connor couldn't bear it any longer. Looking around them once, he swiftly lifted Troye in his arms, marvelling at the slight weight. Troye squeaked out loud, before relaxing, and rested his head against Connor's shoulder. Heart lurching with protectiveness, Connor trudged up the stairs, hoping that neither Troye's dad nor his brother would catch sight of them._

_'Thank you, Connah,' Troye coughed out, his accent thicker than ever, eyes still closed. Connor smiled slightly, brushing a curl off Troye's forehead, as he made his way through the dark silent familiar living room to Troye's room. Troye moaned once, when Connor laid him on the bed, his hands curling into fists._

_'So, what happened?' Connor asked, sitting down at the edge of the bed. 'Who did this?'_

_'Some guys,' Troye muttered, his eyes still closed. He was still breathing heavily. 'Senior year.'_

_'Why?' Connor gritted, noticing again how much paler Troye looked. Also, his clothes seemed to be swallowing him, as if he had lost weight. These things didn't happen overnight. How had he not noticed it before?_

_'What do you think?' Troye's eyes fluttered open, as he attempted to roll them sarcastically. 'Because I'm gay.'_

_'Oh,' Connor deflated. He swallowed once, looking anywhere but at Troye's face, until he had no choice but to look, feeling a pair of eyes boring into him. The expression on Troye's face wrung his heart, and all his previous notions seemed to loom foolishly in front of his eyes. He kicked himself for allowing himself to be intimidated by them. Troye was still Troye, no matter what his sexuality was. He should have supported him, instead of shoving him further down. He was such a horrible friend; he didn't even notice how much of a toll all of this was taking on Troye._

_'So,' Connor cleared his throat. He should apologize now. 'Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?' His pride was too stubborn to bend the knee so easily._

_Troye nodded once, closing his eyes, as Connor began unbuttoning his shirt. His skin looked a pale alabaster white, gleaming almost translucently in contrast with the dark patches. Connor sucked in a breath, his throat tightening, as he saw how bad it was. There could be a broken rib as well. He got a damp washcloth and cleaned up as gently as he could, running it over the scraped and bruised skin. Troye didn't protest, except when Connor tried to probe for broken ribs, but it had to hurt like hell._

_'You can relax, you know,' Connor said, foraging for a clean t-shirt and sweatpants in Troye's closet. 'It's just me.' When he got no reply, he looked back over his shoulder to see Troye looking at him with a sad smile._

_'Sure,' Troye said softly, ignoring Connor's attempt to pull his shirt off. Connor tried not to show his surprise and hurt, when Troye shrugged into his t-shirt himself, and lay back on the pillows with an arm draped around his torso, his expression unreadable._

_'Does it hurt too bad?' Connor tried again. 'Do you need painkillers or anything?'_

_'It's okay,' Troye replied. 'You don't have to do this, you know. I'm fine now.'_

_'Troye,' Connor sighed. He sat down at his previous spot again, looking at his friend in desperation, while the latter refused to meet his eyes, apparently finding something really fascinating in the ceiling. 'Look, I'm sorry, okay? I was being an asshole to you, but I've realized how much of a jerk I've been. Let me make it up to you.'_

_'Do you genuinely feel sorry, or you're just guilty on seeing me like this?'_

_'Both,' Connor admitted honestly. 'Now, please, stop being so difficult.'_

_'I'm being difficult now, am I?' Troye raised an eyebrow, but Connor relaxed when he saw a shadow of the amused sparkle Troye always carried around. 'What should I do to be easy?'_

_'Talk to me,' Connor said softly. 'Let me in. Let me help you.'_

_'How can you decide who's in need of help?'_

_That threw him off-guard. 'Let's help each other then,' Connor said desperately, unsettled by this unusually icy Troye. He knew it was all his fault. 'I'm sorry, Tro, I'm so, so sorry. Will you at least try to put it all behind you? I can't lose you over such a stupid thing.' His voice cracked._

_'So you're suddenly not homophobic?'_

_'Well, I don't know,' Connor replied. 'I really don't, but I can promise you that it'll never come between us. It's hard to change suddenly, you know, and I was just shocked when you came out to me like that. I support you fully, and I'm happy that you trusted me, even though I made a shitty job of showing it.'_

_'I get it, Con,' Troye said softly. 'We live in a blue neighborhood. Beliefs are embedded deep, and it's hard to even mold them, let alone uproot them completely.'_

_'I'm willing to try.'_

_'Thank you,' Troye said simply. Connor bit his lip, unsure of how to respond in the unfamiliar awkwardness that hung in the air. Troye suddenly propped himself up on his elbows, holding his arms out towards Connor. The latter grinned in surprise and delight, enveloping Troye in his embrace. Suddenly everything seemed back to normal. Connor felt his chest lightening, as he gripped Troye's skinny form and felt his arms around his own neck._

_'I'll colour me blue,' Troye whispered. 'Anything it takes to make you stay.'_

_'You're so fucking cheesy, Sivan,' Connor laughed, as Troye lay back again. Troye had chosen Sivan as his last name a couple of years back, saying that he liked it better than Mellet._

_'Way to ruin the moment, Franta,' Troye pouted, looking up at him. 'You staying for the night?'_

_'Yeah,' Connor said, deciding it at the very moment. Their parents wouldn't mind, he knew. Plus, he felt he wouldn't even be able to sleep if he left Troye on his own. 'I'll just ring....Tro, what's the matter?'_

_Troye sucked in a breath harshly, curling his hands into fists. 'Nothing, it just hurts so bad,' He muttered, his eyes clenched shut. Connor felt a bigger wave of protectiveness swell in him. He looked so tiny, and frail. How could anyone be capable of hurting him? Slowly, he brushed a hand through Troye's curls, repeating the motion till Troye visibly relaxed. With his other hand, he rubbed his clenched fist, drawing his thumb over the back of his hand._

_'Come here,' Connor shifted forward, swallowing the lump in his throat. Gently, he placed his arms under Troye's shoulders and knees and drew him into his lap. Troye looked up at him, his eyes wide, but apparently reassured soon enough, a tiny smile curved around his lips, and he snuggled more comfortably. Connor continued stroking his hair, the deepest and rarely-shown part of him cooing at how cute and tiny Troye looked, and how perfectly he fit in his lap._

_'Night, Con Con.'_

_'Good night, Troye boy.'  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Troye was going insane. His mind was so convoluted that he was always censoring himself around people, lest he blurt something out. He couldn't ever admit that he liked Connor, because that would make them the butt of all jokes in the homophobic community they lived in and most importantly, jeopardize their relationship. No, it was best if Troye kept his feelings shoved down, and his mouth shut._

_'Down to earth, Troye,' Connor's voice broke through his musing, and Troye felt heat washing through his cheeks and neck as he looked at Connor's rouge-tinted face and green eyes. His lips were parted into a wide grin, showing his perfect white teeth. 'What're you thinking?'_

_'Nothing,' Troye said quietly, gripping the handlebars of his cycle tighter. They had rented bicycles for the day to go cycling in the woods, the way they used to when they were kids. It was fall, Connor's favorite time of the year. Troye watched fondly as Connor suddenly spotted something photo-worthy, and dropped down on his knees in front of a flower shrub. Within a minute, he had clicked the shutter and straightened up again. Troye beamed with pride when Connor showed him the flower hidden behind the shrub. The petals folded delicately over each other, hiding shyly behind the tender green stalks._

_'You're amazing at this, Con,' Troye said admiringly._

_'Thank you,' Connor said simply, turning a brighter shade of fuschia. Before Troye could even blink, he had raised his camera to his eyes and snapped the shutter. Troye scrunched up his face, looking down at the photo Connor now showed him._

_'That's you,' Connor pointed out, with a grin._

_'Thanks; never could have figured it out,' Troye retorted sarcastically, secretly admiring the picture. His face appeared musing, but his lips were parted slightly in surprise and his eyes glimmered bluer than usual. And his face was tinted a bright red._

_'You look like a tomato,' Connor commented, smirking. 'A tiny little tomato, because you're too small to be qualified for an actual tomato.' He burst out laughing at his own joke. Troye rolled his eyes amusedly, his stomach flipping as it registered to him how much deeper Connor's voice had become._

_'And you look like a carrot,' Troye said smugly. 'Yeah, your face is kinda long, so you're a carrot.' He giggled, smirking at the look Connor threw at him._

_'If I'm a carrot, then you're a red chilly pepper,' Connor proclaimed, beginning to laugh again as he wheeled his cycle forward. Troye fell back, pressing a hand against his chest discreetly. He forced himself to take deep breaths in an attempt to unwind the knots in his tummy._

_'A hot red chilly pepper,' Troye corrected, wondering who this cool and calm stranger in his body was._

_'Whatever, Sivan.'_

_'What, no comeback?' Troye teased, hurrying to keep with Connor's longer strides. 'So you agree I'm hot?'_

_Connor flipped him off, shaking his head with a small grin, as he carefully set his bike up against a tree. They would walk ahead for a while from here, and then come back and cycle home. At least, that was the plan._

_The air was crisp, typical of fall, pleasant enough for not to be chilling yet not damp either, despite being near the sea. The brilliance of nature lay in full glory, with leaves of various shades of brown, crimson, yellow, orange and green lying in a heap on the floor. They were a perfect example of creating beauty out of randomness, as Connor said. Troye felt affection gush through him every time they stopped when Connor wanted to take a photo. He was so dedicated and passionate; it was inspiring. He always chased the mundane things, perceiving them as beautiful._

_They walked along in comfortable silence for a while, till they came to the clearing that had been their hangout place for ages. A stone in the middle of the clearing had served as their seat, and Troye sank down into the 'bench' gratefully._

_'I'm tired, Con,' He groaned, breathing heavily. The walk had been slightly uphill, and the path hadn't been what Troye would exactly call smooth either._

_'You're so unhealthy,' Connor commented, and Troye snorted, moving to make room for him. His stomach flipped again, at the closer proximity they now shared._

_'You're out of breath too,' Troye pointed out, and Connor's face slipped into a sheepish grin for a moment, colouring its permanent shade of rouge._

_'But I do go for runs on the beach,' He defended, throwing up his hands. 'Unlike you.' The emphasis he put on 'you' made a fire light up in Troye, licking at his insides and making him melt internally._

_'I hate the sand,' Troye muttered._

_'Which is why I brought us here,' Connor said softly, all trace of teasing gone._

_'Huh?' Troye's brow furrowed in confusion. 'You have anything planned?'_

_'Yes, I do,' Connor swallowed, licking his lips slightly. 'I'm gay, Troye.'_

_Troye's head whipped up, his eyes widening in shock. His breathing turned uneven, as his heart swelled to thrice its size, floating up from his chest._

_'Now I know that this might turn out hypocritical to you, but let me explain. I wanted you to be the first one to know, because you're the one I trust the most. I had my doubts quite a while ago, shortly after you came out to me, and I fought against them. I fought hard, but it was futile. I couldn't change the way I was, and it frustrated me. I pretended that I was like everyone else, and hoped that it would all go away one day. But I've realized that I can't do that. I can't run away from myself anymore. People are going to turn against me; my dad will probably be really pissed off too. I'll get a lot of hate, but I'll live through it. You want to know what triggered this?'_

_Troye could only gape like a goldfish at the long speech. 'What?' He whispered, still digesting all that Connor had told him._

_'I fell for someone,' Connor said softly, smiling, even as he turned a bright shade of pink. 'He drives me crazy. I couldn't bear the platonic relationship we had anymore, because every time I see him, all I can think of is doing this.' He reached out and cupped Troye's chin with his forefinger and thumb, rubbing slowly._

_Troye's senses went into overdrive. He held his breath, eyes wide and fixated on Connor's green orbs._

_'He makes me complete, in the most amazing way ever. I've become so accustomed to his presence that I don't think I can ever live without him. I fought my feelings for him too, but now I'm giving up.'_

_Connor shifted forward, moving his hand till it cupped the side of Troye's face. His fingers felt silky, tantalising his heightened senses. His other hand curled against his shoulder, thumb rubbing against the bare skin of his neck._

_Oh my God. I'm not imagining it._

_The thought had barely formulated in Troye's mind, when his eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, as Connor pulled his face towards him and kissed him, slowly and passionately, to which Troye responded, fireworks exploding in his stomach. His hands stayed frozen at his sides, too surprised to react. Troye moaned faintly, his mouth being explored by a tentative tongue, which withdrew quickly but not without reluctance. Connor gripped his jaw dominantly and encircled his waist with his other hand._

_'Holy fuck,' Troye breathed out, too dazed to think about anything except resting his head against Connor's shoulder. 'Con, oh my god - '_

_Troye raised his head, biting his lip at Connor's watery eyes. He wiped away the single tear that fell out, the minuscule pearl of months' emotions disintegrating in his fingers._

_'I feel free, Tro,' Connor's voice cracked. 'I was such a prick to you; I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Tro-' He accepted Troye's embrace eagerly. Troye closed his eyes as he caught the trembling boy, their hands clutching at the other's body with a bruising affection._

_'It's okay, baby,' Troye hummed, his voice torn between giddy happiness and pain at seeing Connor cry. 'That's in the past; we're not gonna dwell on that.'_

_'So, thinking about the future,' Connor began, a while later, once his body had stopped shuddering. He stood up quickly, and dropped down on one knee. 'Troye Sivan, will you be my boyfriend?'_

_Troye felt so overwhelmed with happiness that he could have cried. In his typical Connor way, he had sprung it nonchalantly, though Troye could see through the façade. He grasped Connor by the shoulders and clasped their lips, no words required to further seal the deal. Troye whispered a quiet affirmation, voice laced with emotions too profound to be worded coherently at that moment, and fell back into the grass as Connor pounced on him like an excited kid. Right there, with bits of grass tangling into his hair, Troye felt that he wanted nothing more in life. He could deal with all the hate and homophobia as long as the green-eyed boy holding him in his arms never let go of him._

_'You're beautiful, Tro,' Connor whispered against his ear, voice an octave lower with fast-increasing confidence and fast-receding shyness._

_Troye blushed. Connor did find beauty in the mundane._

'Troye?'

After a short knock, the door to Troye's room opened slightly, and Derrick stepped in. Troye looked up at him from the floor. His guitar and songbook lay on his bed, furiously dumped there when they did nothing more than fuel his emotions, instead of curbing them.

'Lunch's ready,' Derrick said, giving him a subtly worried look. 'Let's eat.'

'I'm not hungry,' Troye replied automatically. It wasn't a lie; his insides felt filled with sawdust.

'Don't give me that bullshit,' Derrick said curtly, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'I'm serving it out now; get your ass there in five minutes' time.'

Troye sighed in resignation. There was no arguing with Derrick when he assumed full 'big-brother' mode, and used that tone. It did show that he cared a lot about him, Troye thought guiltily, noticing his brother's haggard face when he shut the door behind him softly. He stumbled as he got to his feet, coaxing his numb legs to adjust, and made his way to the bathroom to splash water on his face.

The dining table was between the kitchen and the living room, and the balcony and a huge french window, which made the air flow continuously between the both of them. Troye walked in to the soft ringing of wind chimes, which was a typical noise in their home, but he seemed to hear it properly for the first time. For some reason, it seemed to run a soothing hand over his nerves, making his senses clearer. He took his usual place at the table, giving Derrick a tentative smile.

'I did my best,' Derrick made a comical face, gesturing at Troye's plate. 'But it's nothing compared to Dad.' He shook his head in mock-resignation.

The heaviness in Troye's chest dissolved a little, and a small smile made its way to his lips. 'I'll take the dare,' He said dryly, cutting a piece of meat. 'Where's Dad?'

'He got caught up at the bank,' Derrick informed. 'You know how disorganized it is, don't you?'

'Oh yeah,' Troye replied. In a town where everyone knew everyone, along with their backstories, even a brisk visit to the bank would end up being a lengthy meeting session. A big gust of wind blew through the open balcony, blowing through his curls, and Troye unwound a little more. Maybe isolation wasn't always helpful.

'Feel any better?' Derrick said softly. Apparently, he had been watching Troye closely. Troye nodded slowly, chewing on the meat, humming the windchimes' tune in his mind.

'I really do.'

_  
Troye rushed down the stairs, and through the living room, laughing as he glanced back at Connor, who was red in the face and doing his best to catch him. Being small and light did have his advantages, Troye thought gleefully, as he pranced behind the huge couch, flashing Connor a teasing grin, clutching the flat object Connor was trying to grab from him, out of reach._

_'Give that back, Mellet!' Connor huffed, lunging forward and crashing right into the couch. Troye began to laugh loudly again, throwing his head back, as Connor cursed loudly and lurched to his feet, his flush deepening. Troye couldn't help cooing a little inwardly at how adorable the blush looked on Connor._

_'No,' Troye sang, flinging back his hand, and hitting Connor's dad square in the face._

_Now it was his turn to get flustered. 'Shit,' He swore. 'I'm so sorry, Ruben. Did I hurt you? It was a mistake, honestly.'_

_'It's all right, kiddo,' Connor's dad chuckled, patting his shoulder. Troye nodded, turning to glare at Connor, who had taken the opportunity to sneak up and grab the photo from Troye's hand. He stuck his tongue out at Troye now, looking like a smug cat. Troye bit back a laugh at the mental simile, and the mental images that followed._

_'Why were you running, Troye?' Ruben asked him, amused._

_'He went foraging in the attic,' Connor growled, cutting in indignantly._

_'And found all sorts of cool stuff,' Troye put in. 'Including Connor's childhood pics.'_

_'Oh,' Ruben chuckled. 'Those are hilarious.'_

_'I know right!' Troye jumped up. 'Especially the one where he looks as if his head has been dipped in chocolate.' He cracked up again, as Connor shot him a look._

_'Oh, that was when he smashed his birthday cake against his own face on his fifth birthday,' Ruben chimed in, and both he and Troye began to laugh, exchanging high fives. Seeing Connor's mortified face, Troye just laughed harder._

_'I hate you guys,' Connor muttered, sinking down on the couch. 'Why the hell would you go to the attic anyway?'_

_'He probably wanted to surprise you for your birthday,' Ruben said gently. 'Right, Troye?'_

_Troye nodded, throwing his hands up. 'You're turning thirteen tomorrow, Con. It's a big deal, okay.'_

_'Yeah,' Connor agreed, softening. 'I'll officially be a teenager, while you'll remain a skinny shrimp of twelve.'_

_'Only for a few months,' Troye protested. 'You can't hold that over me all the time.'_

_'Whatever you say, shrimp.'_

_'Shrimp, seriously?' Troye raised an eyebrow incredulously._

_'Seriously, Con,' Ruben put in, grinning. He had been following their banter with an amused smile. 'Troye looks more like a mantis.'_

_'Right,' Connor jumped at the example with delight, shooting Troye a teasing smirk. 'A tall, lanky mantis.'_

_'Not fair, Ruben,' Troye accused. 'You're supposed to take one side, not hop from one of us to the other.'_

_Ruben shrugged. 'I can't choose between my boys now, can I?'_

_The simple words, spoken so casually, made Troye's heart swell. The tiff over Derrick had been gradually put behind by them, and he was now treated just the way he had been before, though their parents maintained the grudge.  
_

'Oh, I think I hear Dad,' Derrick said, turning his ear towards the door. It opened, and their dad stepped in. Troye gave him a tiny smile, not used to smiling after not feeling anything akin to it for so long. His dad returned it, sans any comments Troye had expected and dreaded.

Maybe it was Troye's imagination, but he thought he saw his dad's face sink into lines of worry after he stopped smiling. There was something hunched and different about his gait as well. He just took another bite of his food, and prepared to listen, already feeling the brief calmness being replaced by an awkward tension. Derrick was looking at their dad similarly, his lips pursed together tightly.

'Just spit it out, Dad,' Troye said impatiently. He rested his elbows on the table wearily, exchanging a quick look with Derrick.

'All right,' Troye's dad took a deep breath. 'Ruben Franta was in a car crash this morning. He passed away half an hour ago.'

Shock numbed Troye's body again.

Connor's dad.

Connor would be so shattered. Or was that the word to use for the bonds that were holding him back from Troye?


	8. Chapter 8

It was true.

Connor felt the realization like a slap in the face, as if he was waking up from a nightmare, only to realize that the nightmare wasn't a nightmare. It was reality. He blinked slowly. A hand was gripping his shoulder, and he wanted nothing more than to shrug it off.

Sounds of sobbing penetrated his ears, the numbness lifting off gradually, opening the path for a vicious stabbing pain that couldn't be pinpointed. Connor saw his mother at the foot of the coffin, sobbing her eyes out. For the first time, he felt a sort of connection with her. Standing beside her was his aunt, his dad's sister, her face buried in a tissue as well.

The vicar stood up and said a few words, but none of them registered in Connor's mind. He was engrossed in staring down at the closed coffin, which now held a person who had been walking and talking around like any other human, less than twenty-four hours ago.

Connor would never get a chance to speak to his dad again. He would never be scolded, or slapped, or restrained from anything. On the other hand, nobody would guide him to complete work on the boat. Nobody would look out for him, and call him,' Con, son,' again.

As the coffin was lowered down, Connor felt the hourglass explode, spilling glass and sand everywhere, clouding his vision and sapping away his strength. His eyes prickled with a heavy warmth, and his knees buckled without warning. Connor pressed both of his hands against his mouth to stop a sob from escaping, as he crumpled on the ground right there, his throat and chest constricted beyond measure. The hand gripped his shoulder tighter, and this time, he wriggled away, staring in transfixed horror as the ground swallowed up his father. His mother walked forward to toss a clod of earth, as the vicar drew the cross and muttered something.

A single line of tears rolled down his cheeks. He thought back to the countless afternoons he had spent with his father, working on the boat, going fishing, hiking or just strolling on the beach. He would never hear the booming voice telling him to paint evenly, or not leave the paint uncovered, or to be careful while perched on the ladder. His eighteenth birthday was coming up soon. He was supposed to have the family heirlooms, which had been passed down from generation to generation, but that would never happen the way Connor had always dreamed about it. Instead of a solemn yet intensely exciting meeting with his father, who would probably have given him another Talk, he would have....he didn't even want to think about it.

Connor jerked away in annoyance, as someone clasped his shoulder again, digging their nails into his suit. A sob escaped his throat the moment he opened his mouth to speak, and that directed the attention of half the people around him. Eyes downcast, Connor clasped his hands against his mouth, wave after wave of emotions that were too convoluted to decipher individually roaring through him. He saw someone leading Millicent away from his side, and exhaled. That was what he wanted, to be alone.

No, that would be a lie. He wanted to be held and comforted, cocooned in something far different than this, where he could sort out his emotions and rein them, instead of falling prey to them.

He needed Troye. 

Ideally, he shouldn't expect Troye or anyone from his family to turn up, but he knew them too well. It took him a moment to piece together the thought that Troye might actually be near him, in the very cemetry. Connor scrambled up, with a bleak hope, running the heel of his hand across his face, and looked around him wildly. He spotted him at once, standing a little apart from everyone else, even his dad and brother.

Connor's heart beat harder, as more sobs wreaked their way through him. He really couldn't run across to Troye now, and fall in his arms. It had been drilled into him to avoid Troye in public, and the practice was hard to break now. He merely turned his head away from the skinny boy in his oversized suit, which had probably been borrowed from his dad or Derrick, and tried to budge the lump in his throat.

Amongst the medley of emotions coursing through him, one of them was a slight will to hope again, because the barrier against the door was gone, leaving both the people on either side of the door to open it. But other images like the countless times his dad had told him to be a man and make him proud, the happy flush on his face whenever he and Millicent showed any sign of affection in front of him, overpowered it.

Everything had flipped drastically. One thing Connor wouldn't have to worry about was getting married to Millicent or something. He was pretty sure that his dad had had something of the sorts planned, because he was their biggest shipper, delighted that the ship was apparently going canon.

Connor got up abruptly, unable to look at the coffin in front of him. He saw a wreath of flowers being lowered down onto it by his aunt, and for a moment, almost saw his father's face in his head, reacting to all his thoughts in the previous minute. He gasped and stumbled back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent try to make her way over to him, but her dad, who had his arm around her, stopped her, shooting Connor a sympathetic look.

Connor walked amongst the graves, his feet seeming to lead him magnetically to the very back. He kept his head down, the unbidden thought that his father would soon be under such a gravestone forever running through his mind. He shuddered. One day, they would all be under such gravestones. It was something inevitable, and the only thing that differed was the time.

He halted at the steps that lead up to some statue. It had probably been erected in memory of someone, and despite looking old and weather-beaten didn't fail to awe by its majesty. A small figure sat curled up at the top of the stairs, his shoulders hunched together. He was staring ahead of him. Connor felt the familiar tug in his abdomen, and the automatic compression of his chest. Timidly, he shuffled forward and reached out towards his shoulder. He was singing something under his breath, but Connor recognized the lyrics instantly and almost broke down crying again.

''Cause you know that I can't trust myself, with my 3am shadow,  
I'd rather fuel a fantasy, than deal with this alone  
But I wanna sleep next to you,  
And that's all I wanna do right now,  
So come over now, and  
Talk me down.'

It seemed pathetic to him that he had broken the routine they had just been getting used to for a year, by messing and tattering their emotions in the two days they had spent together, and then going back to the routine for two months. And now he was the one asking for help from the person he had hurt beyond measure. Connor gingerly touched his shoulder. Troye turned around at once, and the expression on his face sent a knife to his heart. Troye looked like a hurt kid again, sadness and helplessness radiating off him. It was as if he perfectly understood what Connor was going through, maybe even better than Connor did, and he didn't like it at all. His hair lay as messy as usual, and he was almost swallowed up by his clothes. He had never been a fan of formals, and his tie had already been loosened, Connor observed, making him look even more attractive.

They looked at each other for a moment, Connor's green eyes reluctantly gazing into his steadily, even though he felt that he didn't deserve to do so. Troye's hand reached up slowly, cupping the side of his neck, and Connor let out a sigh, feeling the ropes loosening already. Maybe they would have this forever. Maybe the ordeal was finally over, even though the foreboding feeling in his gut refused to go away. Troye's expression softened, and Connor broke down completely as he saw the tenderness in his gaze. He felt Troye's hand move to the back of his neck, and with a sense of surrealism and wonder, he buried his face into Troye's shoulder. His fingers clutched at Troye's sleeve blindly, and he would have fallen without Troye's support.

Troye smelled incredible, even without his cologne. Connor wrapped his arms around his waist tightly, desperately sinking further into his embrace. Troye stroked his hair, shaking just as much. No words were exchanged, but they spoke far more than they would have if they had used words. He was screaming from the inside, elated yet devastated at the same time, and the demons in his head had suddenly swelled to four times their size, shrieking and dragging up his rawest emotions, and turning them over and over with their pitchforks.

Their hearts drummed with a new pace, with hopeful promises on both parts to maintain the same steadiness. Connor wasn't a calculative person. He had his qualms about the future, but a little hopes too. He felt Troye stiffen suddenly, and looked up, running a shaky hand through his face. A chill ran through his body as he followed Troye's gaze, and saw a blond-haired girl who looked as if she was about to cry. Connor stepped back from Troye, holding his hands up towards her. His mouth opened to speak, but he could form no words. He looked at Troye desperately, but the latter was already looking at him with a look that Connor had never quite seen on him before. It was challenging, and sadly knowing, as if Troye knew what Connor would do next, but there was nothing like reproach or disdain. Troye crossed his arms around his torso, as Connor took another shaky step back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Millicent's face crumple, and that shook him to his core.

His dad had once told him to never ever make a girl cry. It was the worst thing a man could do, to make tears of hurt appear in a woman's eyes. He took another step towards her, still looking at Troye desperately, as if the latter could offer some solace and a solution. He had probably made Troye cry numerous times too. It was all he could do, it seemed; make people cry. He turned his head away, as Troye's expression softened.

He was never leaving the labyrinth. He had been trapped under the catacombs for too long, and even though he could see the way out in front of him, the inner part of him knew the hidden brambles along it which would surely scratch him to bits. Besides, after being in the darkness for so long, the harsh light outside would kill him, even if he was shielded in his lover's arms.

He tried to be gentle, as he grabbed Millicent by the hand, but the most primal part of him, one that followed his emotions entirely, seemed to have taken over him. She winced slightly at his harsh grip, but Connor ignored it, pressing his lips in a straight line and stalking away. He did not look back even once, even though he could feel a pair of eyes boring into his neck.

He was being so self-centred; he needed to stop hurting people and then crawl back to them, especially since they accepted him back every time. He owed it to Troye and even Millicent, because she must genuinely feel something for him, and he had no right to play with her feelings, despite the fact that she could be insufferable at times.

As Connor stomped down the street by the graveyard, he realized what exactly was the scenario, just as Troye had probably figured it out before. And he didn't like it. But he saw no other choice.

It was for the best.


	9. Chapter 9

_'Can you even swim?'_

_'Of course I can!' Troye cried indignantly. He crossed his arms over his chest, casting another uneasy look at the jetty, and at the sparkling blue water below. 'It's just that it feels so weird that the bottom of the sea is so far below.'_

_'That's the real fun,' Connor sang out. 'What's great about being in a swimming pool, where you can walk and swim at the same time? I love the sea; you have no choice but to swim.'_

_'Or to drown,' Troye muttered. Connor shoved his shoulder._

_'Come on, Tro! You'll love it, trust me,' Connor cried. He took off his shirt and flung it in the sand, where all their fake swords and masks were kept. Reluctantly, Troye did the same. He shivered slightly, and bunched his arms around himself, feeling goosebumps appear from cold and fear._

_'It's the jumping that scares me,' Troye confessed. Connor touched his arm understandingly._

_'I get that,' He said softly. 'Jumping's the hard part. Everything after that is amazing. But I'll be there with you, the whole time. And we won't swim far, since our dads are far away and there's no one else here. Happy?'_

_Troye chuckled slightly, and nodded. His feet trembled as they walked the wooden jetty to the end, and Troye stomach flipped, as he looked down into the clear sparkling waters, beckoning him eagerly. He wanted to turn and walk away, but also knew that he would kick himself for that every time. He looked at Connor with a small smile, who grinned back at him. Connor was excited beyond measure; it was clear how much he loved this._

_'We'll jump together,' Connor grabbed Troye's arm, and Troye exhaled, slightly relieved. His gut clenched again, as he looked down at the water that was quite far below._

_Just when he was hoping that it wouldn't be something long drawn-out, he felt his body leave the wooden planks, and before he could even scream, he was cutting through the water, the cold slapping against his skin and making him gasp. Adrenaline had been coursing through his body, heightening his senses. Troye began to laugh, splashing about in the water. He noticed Connor grinning at him, and splashed a big wave of water right into his face._

_'How nice of you, Troye,' Connor spluttered sarcastically, to which Troye splashed him again. He shrieked and began to swim away as fast as he could, when he noticed Connor coming towards him. It was no use. Connor's arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, and next moment, Troye found himself completely in the water. His eyes opened wide, and he just about managed to contain his gasp. The world underwater was totally different. Everything was darker, and prettier. A yellow fish swam by very close to his face, making him recoil. He splashed up with a gasp, inhaling in deeply, and pushed back his hair from his eyes._

_'That's what you get for splashing me,' Connor said smugly, though Troye saw some concern and relief on his face. 'Now let's race! I bet I'll win.'_

_'You're on,' Troye stuck his tongue out at him, and began to swim strongly towards their starting point._

_To his chagrin, Connor did win, being a far stronger swimmer than Troye. He took it in good humor, of course, and they splashed about in the water for a long time, swimming and playing and soaking each other. Troye began to feel quite like a fish, gasping for air every moment. He swam out at last, wobbling as his feet touched land after such a long time in the water. The silky feeling the water had given his body vanished, to be replaced by a comfortable warmth as the sun shone down upon him softly._

_'I thought you hated the sand,' Connor commented, smirking, as he sat down next to Troye._

_'I do, but I don't care now,' Troye muttered, stretching lazily. Connor lay down next to him, and they exchanged grins. Troye hadn't been a timid bystander this time. It may be a small deal, but it was an achievement nevertheless, which wouldn't have been possible without Connor. Troye told him so._

_'See, I told you, it would be fun,' Connor said triumphantly._

_'It was,' Troye agreed, sighing. The sand felt deliciously cool against his bare back, and he liked the sensation, even though he was going to make a hue and brush it down quickly the moment he stood up. Thoughts about crabs and what-not in the sand floated in his mind, but one look at Connor's happy contented face made him shoo away his notions._

_Troye considered himself the luckiest person in the world for having a friend like Connor then. He nudged his arm playfully, and smiled when Connor nudged him back. Soon it turned into a full-on wrestling game, at the end of which they collapsed back on the sand, laughing and panting. Troye pulled a face when he ran his hands through his hair, and felt his fingers come away sandy._

_'A little bit of sand won't hurt you,' Connor scoffed, and before Troye could even open his mouth, he felt a big handful of sand being scattered over his torso. He shrieked, sitting upright immediately, the powdery white substance tickling his bare skin. Connor shot away from him, doubling up in laughter. Troye was too lazy and tired to chase him then, and he fell back, grumbling._

_'Let's make a sand castle,' Connor said suddenly. 'I'm sure you've never made one before.'_

_'No,' Troye admitted. 'Let's make one, Con!' He clapped his hands excitedly._

_They had no pails or shovels, which is why they walked further away from the jetty and began making their sand castle near the waves. Troye watched the miniature structure gradually mould into existence, fascinated by the expertise with which Connor worked. He tried to help clumsily, pouring water from his cupped palms whenever Connor told him to. It wasn't technically a castle, with just a conical roof and one-storey structure, with a door and window scraped out at the last moment._

_'It's a cottage,' Troye said softly. At that moment, a big wave splashed right over it, taking half of it away with itself when it receded. Troye let out a startled shout._

_'Tide's coming in, so that was bound to happen,' Connor shrugged, bending to dip his hands clean in the water._

_'It was so pretty,' Troye groaned, sitting down beside Connor in a huff._

_'I know right,' Connor agreed sadly. 'We'll make a better one next time, when we come with pails and shovels.'_

_'I'd love to have a house of my own one day,' Troye said softly. 'Something small, and pretty.'_

_'Me too,' Connor said. 'I love the house I live in, but I want my own, somewhere far away from here.'_

_'I love this place,' Troye exclaimed. 'I don't think I'll leave.'_

_'I don't think I'll either, seeing as you won't,' Connor said seriously, and Troye beamed at him._

_'Thank you, Con. I don't think I could bear it if you left.'_

_Connor grinned back happily at him, getting to his feet. Both of them were soaked through, and they didn't even have any change of clothes. But they didn't mind; the walk back would dry them completely._

_'I think we should get back to our dads,' Connor said, looking up at the sky. 'It's becoming late.'_

_'Fine,' Troye groaned. 'Though I don't want to.'_

_'Same! I wish this day never ended, Tro.'_

Troye was in no particular hurry to get back home. After the funeral, he just walked along a straight road with no sense of a destination, grateful that the end showed no signs. He would have happily walked the road forever, till one day his mind and heart stopped troubling him so much.

At the funeral, not a single person had properly acknowledged his or his brother's presence, and his dad had received a few stiff nods. He didn't care; he only had eyes for Connor. The moment he had seen him hunched up against the coffin, he had wanted to cry himself, curling up against Connor's chest and letting them hold on each other. Seeing the coffin itself had made his heart twist in sadness; some memories are hard to forget and some bonds mold in a way that they are unbroken. He forgot all the times he had been insulted by the man, and had silently raged at him for hurting Connor, and only remembered the happy memories. Ruben had been the one to teach both of them surfing. They had played cards together every time he stayed over at Connor's. Before Connor's every birthday, they had conspired together to arrange surprises for him.

Troye had loved Ruben as his second father.

He remembered Connor's mother, her face pressed against her palms, and felt nothing except a little sorry for her. She had been a figurehead in Connor's life. All that Troye had seen and known about her was that she lived her room most of the time, coming out only to do her household chores and cook meals. She loved to read and paint, Connor said, and her room seemed to be a getaway for her hobbies.

Troye was too numb to feel broken, as the boy he loved had left him again, with his 'girlfriend'. He really hadn't expected that to change; Connor's love and respect for his dad ran too deep to dishonor his wishes even after his death. He was the dutiful son, and despite the misgivings and stand-offs he had with his dad, Troye knew that he couldn't be able to look solely at the opportunity that had presented itself in front of him.

One of the many things Troye loved about his Connor was his moralistic headstrongness. One of the many things he hated about himself was his forgiving nature.

To be honest, Troye needed some time himself, to sort all this out. Maybe they could both do with some time, and gradually ease their way back towards each other. No matter how much Troye wanted to go after Connor, hold him close and cry, he wouldn't.

It was scary that someone he had known and loved almost his entire life was going away forever from their lives, paving an expected path for their lives to follow. The question was: Would they take the path?

Deep down, Troye knew the answer, though he did his best to shove it as far down as he could. His formal shoes squeaked against the concrete, and Derrick's coat and trousers flapped around his body as the wind blew straight at him. There was no sun in the sky, even though it was mid-afternoon. Trepidation and foreboding was bubbling in his gut, yet Troye chose to ignore it. He was pushing back the inevitable, he knew. He would have to return back sometime or later, and he was sure nothing would be the same again. He began singing softly under his breath. He had written the song a little over a week ago, feeling the theme pop up in his mind randomly. The lyrics weren't organized properly yet, but there were certainly grouped together.

'This sunset's longer  
Where I am from  
Where dreams go to die  
While having fun.'

He remembered the countless times he had gushed to Connor how much he loved their town. He had been incredibly happy to move there, fascinated by the quaintness and the close proximity to the sea, after living in a big city with skyscrapers.

'Loving's so good when  
Love is young.'  
'Yeah, there's so much history in these streets  
And mama's good eats  
Oh Wonder on repeat  
There's so much history in my head  
The people I've left  
The ones that I've kept.'

He had lost his mom at the age of five, but he remembered her with love and fondness. She had made him promise to never cry over her, and he faithfully held it up. Probably, this was how she wanted him to be, and was happy and proud of him. He wondered whether she was seeing all this from above.

'Have you heard me on the radio?  
Did you turn it up?  
On your blown-out stereo  
In suburbia  
Could be playing hide and seek from home  
Can't replace my blood  
Yeah, it seems I'm never letting go  
Of suburbia.'

His dreams of becoming a singer and performing in a front of a crowd like Michael Jackson seemed like a distant puff of cloud in the sky. He had even imagined the scene once, with Connor's face beaming up at him proudly from the first row.

Troye's vision began to blur around the edges. He gasped, trying to steady himself. Connor's face floated up in his mind, his green eyes glistening brightly. Troye, thinking it was real, but knowing that it wasn't, stretched out a hand. He suddenly felt that he had to be near Connor. He didn't care any more about people; he had to get to Connor.

He turned and began to run back, feeling as though he was weaving his way through thick fog. Both he and Connor needed each other. Especially at that time. Troye willed himself to go faster, suddenly cursing himself for having left in the first place.

Things could get better now.

There was no one between them. Nothing and nobody could stop them.

Except themselves.


	10. Epilogue

The sun would rise in a few minutes, casting light over everything. The way everything changed in the morning was miraculous. 

Someone would wake up with a smile, and hurry to have warm breakfast prepared by their cheery mother.

Someone would jump out of bed, grumbling, because they weren't morning people, but still gather their stuff up haphazardly to get ready for something.

Someone would lie in bed, hungover, and wake up after noon with a pounding headache.

Someone would wake up with tear tracks on their faces and a damp pillow, and climb out of bed with crumbling resolution, to face the world for another day.

Someone would wake up in their lover's arms, watching them still sleep, savoring the close contact and the feeling of being secure and loved.

Someone wouldn't have slept at all.

Troye sat with his legs crossed on the small wooden chair at his desk. He stared out of the window, his eyes dry and focused without taking in anything. His limbs felt heavy and stiff, from sitting for long hours in one spot from the past several days, but his mind paid no heed. It had stopped turning the wheel, it had stopped the incessant pounding of the waves, it had stopped the trembling of the leaves. The screaming demons inside had fallen silent with shock. They hadn't gone away; he could feel their horns poking the inside of his chest when either of them moved.

Inky black darkness still refused to move its cloak outside. The same colored pen moved slightly on the table, nudged by Troye's elbow. The ink was completely used up, to the last drop. It had not been exactly new, but its life had ended perfectly, with it fulfilling the purpose most satisfactorily. Troye picked it up gently, turning it over and over in his fingers. The fingers that were currently craving something. Something that they would never quite get.   
_  
I have so many names for you that I couldn't quite decide what to use, so I ended up skipping the salutation all together. Sounds weird, huh? Me, saluting you? Well, that's what I should do. You need a salutation and a standing ovation for doing what you've done._

_You have always said that you're not good with words, and prefer to be blunt. I feel the same now, and I won't beat around the bush. Whatever I say now is from my heart to yours. Con, I won't deny that I'm beyond mad at you right now. If I see you now, I'll probably punch your face a couple of times, and then break down in your arms. I badly want to do that right now. But I'm sitting at my desk now, with not even my shadow for company. I really could have done with you being there, but then again, if you were there, things would be entirely different._

_I remember the one time we made breakfast together. We were alone at my place, at a time when we didn't know how fucked-up the world is. All you did was follow me around with your head on my shoulder and arms around my waist, while I did all the work. We were trying cinnamon rolls, and they didn't turn out to be so bad. I suddenly find myself craving cinnamon rolls right now, but I know it's all in my head. I don't know if I can ever get anything down my throat._

_I'm not crying, Connie. Even my tears know that there's no one to wipe them away. They have been totally well-behaved since you went away. It's like everything about me has been well-behaved. I stay in my room the entire time, sitting in one spot, without talking to anyone, without troubling anyone. I'm not going to throw a tantrum, or rebel against anything. I'm being a good little boy, because that's what I'm without you. It was the way you looked at me that made me want to be so bad. (Don't make innuendos out of this; I certainly don't mean it that way, you perv). That cheeky smile, quirking of the single eyebrow, green eyes always sparkling with some planned mischief, made me step out of my shell, and crawl into yours. And for that, thank you. It's been amazing._

_Why the hell am I being so formal? I can almost imagine you rolling your eyes, but I stop, because it hurts. Con, I'm being totally honest. It hurts so bad right now. It's like a thick blanket has numbed all my feelings, but I'm totally conscious of them, even though I can't essentially be impacted by their magnitude. I totally understand you, though, and a very small part of me is not mad at you. I won't dwell further on that, because both of us know the fundamental answer to the 'Why.'_

_Now that I think about it, I almost had an inkling that something like this was going to happen, which is why I was subconsciously prepared for it. Prepared to accept it, not agree with it. I know you too well, Con. We're like pieces of a jigsaw, and without you, I'm incomplete. You've taken away a large chunk of me, and there's a gaping hole there, which stings whenever the memories brush against it._

_Con, my Connie, my Con Bon, I love you. Forever and always. You made me the luckiest person on this planet, just by allowing me to call you mine. You make me complete, in a way nobody else can. I'm yours, baby, and you're mine. We all come without labels, but from the moment I began to see you differently, that changed as well. Those were the crazy days, and I'm confessing now, Con, I've lost more sleep over you than you can imagine. Your slightest touch sent currents through me, and I've spent countless nights tossing and turning in bed, just imagining the feel of your lips, your hands touching me differently, and to see my feelings in your eyes. It was the best day of my life, when we forgot our platonic relationship, and began a new journey together. Each day was like a stolen moment, craftily mocking us in retrospect to the future. Two years seems like a long time, but it's not. But you made them the best years of my life. I see every moment flash by like photos in an album, and every joke shared is part of a link that bound us closer._

_This pen writes really smoothly, and I'm glad for that. Now that I've begun, my words are beginning to flow, and I can't bear to be stopped till I'm done. It's really dark outside, and there's no moon, although I can see a few stars sprinkled about. Reminds me of the night we went skinny dipping, in the summer hols of sophomore year. The water was freezing, but you dunked me anyway, and then fretted over me when I almost caught a chill. I twisted my ankle over a rock, as I tried to chase you, and you carried me home. I lied when I said I couldn't walk for a couple more days, just so I could have you carry me. It was cute to see your face all scrunched up seriously, and being in your arms was just like being a toddler. You used to tease me that, and I secretly loved it. I loved how my small body could fit in your arms so perfectly._

_I never really fell asleep during the times we watched movies together at my house. I just pretended to, so you would hold me, even though you would have done that either way. It was just another of my quirks, and yeah, I heard everything you whispered to me, thinking I was asleep. Seeing your vulnerable side was something rare and heartbreaking, and it shook me every time, in a very positive way. You kept me on my toes, baby, even though I was anchored firmly to you, if that makes any sense._

_I'm choosing to filter out the negativity, and I know you would be proud of me. You were always the strong and silent person, choosing to hurt inwardly rather than inflict it on ten other people. I have been reckless and untactful that way, but you taught me that sometimes, if a person stretches a rubber too much, it bounces back and stings his own hand. It's better to let go sometimes, for our own peace of mind, if not for them._

_Connor Franta, you goddamned asshole, how dare you fucking leave me to write letters at four in the morning? I can't bear to look into the mirror, because I see my blue eyes, and they remind me of your forest green orbs. Screw the formalities, all I want right now is you. I need you, you idiot, my love, my baby, my Connie Frannie. Did you fucking think I would let you off so easily? I can be really stubborn when I want to be, despite the times I let you override my food choices and clothes combinations._

_'We'll never leave each other, no matter what happens.'_

_Remember this? I'm sure you do, and so you should remember what I replied to that as well._

_'As if I'd let you go away from me.'_

_I won't. I'll be with you even if you don't want me to. Maybe the earth has begun to spin up to down, maybe time has started going backwards, maybe everything has changed outside. But my feelings and my decision haven't._

_The pen is almost out of ink, and I think I can squeeze in no more than a couple of sentences. It's a perfect metaphor, showing that this time the Big Forces are on my side too._

_Wait for me to come home.  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, there you have it. Thanks so much for reading. I'm not sure what kind of response this is going to get, because I'm posting all the chapters at once, but I hope you like it :")   
> One question: if I post other (Tronnor) stories here, would you read them? Like, AUs, which will be proper novels?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is a little novella I wrote on the Blue Neighbourhood video trilogy back in December. This is my first fanfiction, and I'd love to hear your feedback on it. I hope you enjoy it, and don't hesitate to post any constructive criticism!


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